


A Basket of Feelings

by SapphyreLily



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alpha!Iwaizumi, Alpha!Matsukawa, Alpha!Oikawa, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Anxiety, Blowjobs, College AU, Comfort, Drinking, Fluff, Implied mental illness, M/M, Multi, One-Sided Love, Panic Attacks, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Road Trips, Tumblr Prompts, Unfortunate Circumstances, Unrequited Love, coffee shop AU, neck biting, omega!hanamaki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-09 06:55:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 21,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7791283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short stories written to prompts given on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Do Too Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> matsuhana 35
> 
> 35\. “I should not have said that. Dammit I really should not have said that.”

They were the only ones in the locker room. The rest of the team had left earlier to warm up, and that was because they knew that Hanamaki needed some time to himself to focus and calm down before a game. Even if it was just a practice match.

“Makki? We need to go start warming up soon.” Matsukawa didn’t like to prod his best friend when he was this nervous, but they really did need to leave.

Hanamaki opened his eyes, and Matsukawa could see the panic in them.

“I can’t do it. I can’t go out there. I know I’m going to trip and fall and mess up my serves and receives, and then I’ll pull the whole team down and Coach will bench me, and what if I never get back on the team? I can’t do it, I can’t do it, please don’t make me go out there, I couldn’t face it if I really had to stay on the bench-”

Matsukawa stood and pulled him into a hug, pressing his face into his chest. Partly to shut him up, partly because when he had these episodes, his best friend wanted nothing more than physical contact to ground him.

He felt Hanamaki’s hands fist in the fabric of his jersey, felt his trembles as he repressed the urge to scream. “You’ll be fine. Your serves are the best on the team - except for Oikawa ‘cause he’s not human - and nobody receives better than you. Coach will never bench you; you’re too good. If he benches you, he’ll have to bench me too.”

Hanamaki shook his head, his voice muffled. “I can’t do it. I feel like throwing up. My hands can’t stop shaking; what if I faint on court?”

“You won’t. I have faith in you.” His words had no effect; Hanamaki was on the verge of a panic attack and was lost to reason, and Matsukawa didn’t know how to stop it before it started.

“Swap jerseys with me.”

Hanamaki’s trembling stopped, as did Matsukawa’s heart.

 _I should not have said that. Damnit, I really should_ not _have said that._

“I-it’s to help reassure you. Y’know, ‘cause I can’t be on court all the time, I need to swap out with Watari and I hate that I can’t be there with you when you need me to be-”

 _What are you_ saying _? Just shut up already!_

Hanamaki’s trembling started up again, and Matsukawa patted his back frantically, saying, “Makki? Makki? Oh god, Makki, please don’t die on me now, I’m sorry, I take that back, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to-”

Matsukawa yelped as something jabbed him in the side. Hanamaki finally raised his head, eyes crinkled with amusement, face open and he was _laughing_.

“Mattsun, you _sap_. I didn’t know you cared that much!”

Matsukawa grumbled. The worst seemed to be over, so he had no qualms about returning Hanamaki’s shit talk. “Fine then. Go out there and play with your own jersey. See if I care.”

“Aww. You practically confessed to me, you can’t take it back now!”

Matsukawa’s breath hitched. _If you only knew._

He stepped back and tugged his jersey over his head, tossing it at Hanamaki. “Hurry up and change before Coach comes looking for us. Or _worse_ , Iwaizumi.”

“Oh, no, not Iwaizumi.” Hanamaki shot back, grin still firmly in place. He pulled his own jersey off and threw it at Matsukawa, quickly pulling on the number 2 jersey. He brought the neckline of the jersey up to his nose, visibly relaxing as he sniffed the cloth. Matsukawa hurriedly turned away to put on the number 3 jersey in his hands.

_Do not go there, do not go there, do not blush, oh for goodness sake-_

“Hey, Mattsun?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.”

“…anytime.”

(If Iwaizumi shot them a nasty look and Oikawa squealed like an excited kid when he saw their swapped jerseys, that was okay.)

(Because at the very least, Hanamaki was fine.)

(Besides, Coach didn’t say anything about it.)


	2. Shining Star, Darkened Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
> song - umbrella - rihanna  
> ship - either bokuroo or bokuaka

You are the dark night, and he is your star.

**_You had my heart, and we’ll never be worlds apart_ **

You are friends, not instantly, not without some work, but you _click_ together so well. You joke and laugh with him, easier than with any other. Your best friend watches with his gleaming gold eyes, calculating your trajectory and how hard you’ll fall.

_Don’t worry,_ you tell him. _I’m not that stupid._

_But you are,_ he says. _I can see you flying, Kuroo. I can see you flying, and I can see how you’ll fall._

You ignore him, because chasing after stars was always your specialty, and you have never failed yet.

(But he shines, oh, he shines so bright. How can you step forward when you can’t see where you’re going?)

**__Maybe in magazines, but you’ll still be my star_ _ **

All relationships take some work, you tell yourself. One step at a time. One step at a time, to climb up the rung, to gain his trust and make him let you in.

**_Baby ‘cause in the dark, you can’t see shiny cars_ **

He shines, but he also dims.

**_And that’s when you need me there_ **

You stretch out a hand to help him up.

**_With you, I’ll always share_ **

He shakes himself out, spreads his wings, and  _soars_.

He turns back halfway, as if remembering you, and calls your name.

**_Because when the sun shines, we’ll shine together_ **

You take those steps forward, and stand by his side.

His eyes burn, passion and determination, and it sends shivers down your spine.

**_Told you I’ll be here forever_ **

_Together,_ you promise.  _We may be rivals, but we’ll go to Nationals_ together.

**_Said I’ll always be your friend_ **

He holds out his fist, and yours meets his in a friendly bump, a smile lifting your lips.

**_Took an oath, I'mma stick it out to the end_ **

_Deal!_

**_Now that it’s raining more than ever_ **

The path to Nationals isn’t easy. Day after day of arduous training, to the point that you almost puke or need to sit out a practice match, day after day of strenuous _torture_ , torture that you love because you are a masochist for volleyball, so much so that you would never give it up.

(But Kenma watches you when you trudge home, worn to the bone and shaking with exhaustion, and his knowing gaze says it all.)

_(Why are you doing this?)_

**_Know that we’ll still have each other_ **

He doesn’t understand how important it is to play and _win_ , but _he_ does, your other best friend with the hooded eyes and predatory gaze, _he_ does.

**_You can stand under my umbrella_ **

**_You can stand under my umbrella_ **

You will support him, and he will support you, and you will make it to the top.

Even if you have to defeat each other in the process.

(You don’t make it to Nationals.)

(His team is kicked out in the second round.)

x.x.x.x.x

Second year dawns, and brings new faces and fresh talent. You are curious to see who he got on his team, but you are more excited to have your best friend back.

(The best setter, the unobtrusive one, the one that everyone underestimates.)

(Your trump card.)

_He_ calls you after practice, excited, hyped up, and you are swept away by his enthusiasm.

_We have a new setter,_ he tells you. _He’s so talented, I can’t wait till you meet him!_

_Training camp is five weeks away,_ you remind him laughingly. _Train him up, and we can compare setters then._

_Oh, that’s right._ He says thoughtfully. _You have your secret setter back now._

_We will trash you,_ you promise. _Don’t underestimate us._

_You better not underestimate us either!_

**_These fancy things will never come in between_ **

He is beautiful, the first-year setter.

Almost as beautiful as Kenma.

Almost as beautiful as _him._

You are afraid you are not up to his standards anymore.

**_You’re part of my entity, here for infinity_ **

His fist reaches under the net, and you bump it with a grin.

Still friends.

**_When the war has took its part_ **

He turns around and shouts to his new setter with unbridled glee, louder and more enthusiastically than he has ever greeted you. Your heart falls.

**_When the world has dealt its cards_ **

The setter backs away, hides behind one of the other seniors to escape his victory hug.

He deflates, sadder than you have ever seen him.

A light hand on your elbow, a soft whisper in your ear. _I think he likes Akaashi a lot._

Ah, so that was his name.

You nod mutely, because Kenma is always right.

**_If the hand is hard, together we’ll mend your heart_ **

But then _he_ turns back to you, bright eyes dulled, and you can’t help but stretch out your hand.

**_Because when the sun shines, we’ll shine together_ **

He brightens up only slightly, but reaches over to slap your palm.

_One more time!_

**_Told you I’ll be here forever_ **

You smile, even as Akaashi sets another ball and you jump to block.

You lose the ball, blown back by the power of his spike.

**_Said I’ll always be your friend_ **

He turns to you with a wide grin, and you give him a thumbs up with your good hand.

**_Took an oath, I'mma stick it out to the end_ **

He turns back to celebrate with his team, and the shy setter steps forward, allowing him to bestow a back-cracking hug on him.

Your heart aches, but he is so _happy_ that you can’t bear to watch him stop shining.

**_Now that it’s raining more than ever_ **

Akaashi ducks away after barely a second, and the rest of his team steps forward to slap his back, but you can see the difference in his posture already.

He looks so _defeated_.

**_Know that we’ll still have each other_ **

You cup your hands, hoot in encouragement, and he perks up, never one to miss an opportunity.

He throw his hands up and hoots back, and you let a smile spread across your face.

**_You can stand under my umbrella_ **

**_You can stand under my umbrella_ **

The quiet setter watches you two from the sidelines, a contemplative look on his face.

x.x.x.x.x

**_You can run into my arms_ **

Over the year, you get happy and sad messages from him, long and short rants, always about volleyball, always about  _Akaashi_ and _I bet he hates me_.

**_It’s okay, don’t be alarmed, come into me_ **

You let him rant, listen carefully, give your best advice, because you are a good, kind person, even if no one actually believes it.

**_There’s no distance in between our love_ **

(You quietly hope that he will remember that it is you supporting him all this while, and that he will realise that you are better for him than an elusive shadow who refuses to be in the same room as him for too long.)

**_So go on and let the rain pour_ **

His complaints grow sadder and sadder, until one day all he says when you pick up is, _What’s wrong with me?_

**_I’ll be all you need and more_ **

_Nothing,_ you tell him, brutally honest, your feelings leaking through, colouring your tone.  _Nothing is wrong with you. You are perfect the way you are._

**_Because when the sun shines, we’ll shine together_ **

He sniffles and stops. Asks to meet. You agree, despite your better judgement, despite Kenma’s scathing look, because this is your star, your light, and you don’t want to see him extinguished.

**_Told you I’ll be here forever_ **

You meet, go out on adventures to several arcades and cafés, playing and joking and laughing until he is shining bright again.

**_Said I’ll always be your friend_ **

You sit side by side on a park bench, your prizes littered around you, laughing and teasing as you stare up at the cloudless sky, full of stars.

(None of them are as bright as the one beside you, and you send up a quick prayer of apology.)

**_Took an oath, I'mma stick it out to the end_ **

_Hey, Kuroo?_

_Hmm?_

_You really don’t think Akaashi hates me?_

**_Now that it’s raining more than ever_ **

He looks sad again, defeated, with but the smallest hope still flickering in his eyes.

(How can you disappoint him?)

_No, I don’t think so._

**_Know that we’ll still have each other_ **

You sling an arm around his neck, lean close, and whisper in his ear.

(Close, so close, but never closer.)

(He doesn’t see you that way.)

_Nobody can hate you._

**_You can stand under my umbrella_ **

**_You can stand under my umbrella_ **

But you are stupid, and oh so hopelessly in love.

**_It’s raining, raining_ **

So at your next joint training camp when you almost walk in on him and Akaashi, you stop and listen instead of moving away.

**_Ooh baby, it’s raining, raining_ **

_Akaashi, I really like you. Will you go out with me?_

A pause, a lengthy silence.

A quiet, determined voice.

_No, Bokuto-san. I am not ready for that sort of relationship._

_I’m sorry._

**_Baby, come in to me_ **

He runs out and nearly trips over you. You hold out your arms wordlessly, and he crashes into them, sobbing boisterously.

**_Come in to me_ **

He does not ask why you were eavesdropping, and you do not tell him.

**_It’s pouring rain, it’s pouring rain_ **

He does not stop for the longest time, and from your secluded spot, you see Akaashi walk out, eye you quietly, but say nothing and walk away.

**_Come in to me, come in to me_ **

You feel a beat of triumph despite winning nothing, and you hope that he doesn’t feel your heartbeat quicken from the way you are holding him in your embrace.

**_It’s pouring rain, it’s pouring rain_ **

You sober up when you see Kenma come to find you, and his sharp cat’s gaze is all that you need to be reminded that even though he is encircled by your arms now, his heart will never truly be yours.

But that’s okay.

**_Come in to me, come in to me_ **

Because for this one moment suspended in time, he is yours to love and to keep.

Even if he cannot, and _must not_ ever know it.


	3. Empty Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 
> 
> "Go and live with her (him), then! See if I care!" Hanaiwa :3c

Hanamaki leans against the doorframe of Iwaizumi’s bedroom, watching him throw some clothes into an overnight bag.

“How long will you be gone?”

“A few days, a week at most.” Iwaizumi replies, stuffing the last piece of clothing in and zipping up the bag, the grating sound somehow echoing with a note of finality. He picks the bag up and slings it over one shoulder, walking over to his boyfriend to peck him quickly on the mouth.

“It’s just a routine check-up. If it turns out his injury has worsened, then I might have to stay longer, but it shouldn’t take more than three days. I’ll be back in no time.”

Hanamaki smiles weakly. “Just come back to me, okay?”

Iwaizumi chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course. How could you think otherwise?"

x.x.x.x.x

That was over a month ago. 

Hanamaki sits in his favourite spot (his corner of their couch) with his knees drawn up to his chest, staring mournfully at the phone that refuses to ring.

A month. That was three weeks more than expected, two weeks if he assumed that something had happened. Not only had Iwaizumi not called back once in their entire time apart, but when Hanamaki tried to call, he was immediately directed to voicemail.

He had given up after the first few tries. He knows that Iwaizumi’s client lives in a very rural area, and having no cellphone signal was a completely normal occurrence. Yet he did not like the idea that something had happened and he would not be the first to know about it, as he should be.

There is a soft knock at the front door, and a slight jingling of keys as whoever it is turns the lock and steps inside. Hanamaki lifts his head, but it is only Matsukawa, so he drops his head back onto his knees and sighs.

When is Iwaizumi coming home?

A packet of food is placed on the coffee table, and a large hand drops on his head to ruffle his hair. Matsukawa peers at him worriedly as he leans on the back of the couch, but all Hanamaki can offer is a sad smile.

“Makki, you can’t keep waiting for him, you know.”

“I can too,” Hanamaki insists. It’s a weak protest, and he knows it. “He said he’d take a week, but now it’s been a month…”

“Makki.” Matsukawa has his agitated face on, and he doesn’t like it. 

“What?”

“We’ve been over this for the past three weeks…”

“No we haven’t.” What is he talking about?

“Takahiro.” Matsukawa climbs over the back of the couch to sit facing him, and Hanamaki wants to scream.

_That’s Iwaizumi’s spot, get off of it, what if he comes back and sees?_

“Takahiro.” Matsukawa reaches out and gently cradles Hanamaki’s face in his hands, but he still flinches. Matsukawa doesn’t pull away, but only holds on more gently, his head cocked to one side, a mournful look in his eyes.

“Iwaizumi left. He’s not coming back.”

_“You’re lying.”  
_

_“I wouldn’t lie to you.” Matsukawa holds up his phone, showing him the message.  
_

_**I’ve found someone better,** it reads. **Tell Takahiro I won’t be coming back.**_

_A frantic phone call, a heated argument._

_“What do you mean you’re not coming back?”  
_

“Exactly that. I’m not tying myself to someone who can barely take care of himself half the time. I’m a doctor, I see enough shit at work. I shouldn’t need to come home to take care of another patient.”

_“Is that all I am to you? Just another patient?”  
_

“Look at yourself. Can you tell me that you’re getting better, that you’re stable enough to find a proper job and work? It can’t be me giving everything in this relationship, and I’m tired of not receiving enough back.”

_“What is enough to you, then?”  
_

“A stable partner I can speak and interact with on equal footing. I told you, you’re not returning anything to me. You’re just draining me financially and emotionally and I’ve had enough of it.”

_His blood is boiling, rage painting his vision red. “And this person you’re with now? They are on ‘equal footing’ with you?”_

“More than equal.” _It is a gentle sigh, one of satisfaction and contentment._ “I love him, and I won’t be coming back. All my things have already been moved out, so don’t you worry.”

_Hot, bubbling fury. “Fine. Go and live with him then! See if I care!”_

_A quiet voice, laced with the tiniest bit of regret._ “I hope you don’t. It would make this easier.”

_His ‘Goodbye’ is lost when Hanamaki throws his phone across the room._

Matsukawa wipes away a tear tracing its way down his cheek, but his thumbs can only wipe away so much before his palms are entirely drenched in salt water.

“He… Left?”

Matsukawa is silent for a long while, watching the expression on his best friend’s face carefully. “Yes.”

“What about our promises? Did he not care at all?” He sounds desperate, he _is_ desperate. He wants it all to be a lie.

“I’m sure he did care.” Soft words, carefully chosen, carefully spoken.

“Then why did he leave?”

A long, long silence, punctuated by Matsukawa looking away, the faintest of sighs, his tensed up shoulders.

Finally, three small words, empty of meaning, empty of answers.

“I don’t know.”


	4. We'll Always Be Bros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> "You cane back!" With hanabo :')

“Makki!”

A heavy body slams into him, knocking him clean off his feet. He finds himself rolling, the person still clinging on to his waist, until they both slam into the wall with a loud thump.

“Bo, I love you, but oww.” Hanamaki groans, trying to peel himself off the wall and pull out of Bokuto’s grasp simultaneously. The shackles around his waist tighten, and he wheezes, suddenly short of breath.

“Bro, I’m just so happy! You came back!”

“Can’t breathe,” he gasps, and finally, Bokuto understands, pulling his hands back sheepishly. 

But he’s still lying on top of him.

“Bro, bro. Please, you’re crushing me. Please, get off me before I die.”

Bokuto pouts but dutifully rolls off him. “Why can’t I be happy that you’re alive?”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes, turning his head to the side so he can eye his roommate. “Bo, it was just a shower. Nobody dies from taking a shower.”

“You don’t know that!” Bokuto cries out, then abruptly grabs Hanamaki’s hand to pat his head. “Touch wood, touch wood.”

Hanamaki gapes at him, then bursts out laughing. “Bo, what are you doing?”

“What, you don’t know? It’s called superstition! You’re supposed to touch wood to make sure you didn’t just curse yourself or the situation, or whatever.”

He looks so ridiculous, with Hanamaki’s hand still on his streaked hair, that the strawberry blond can’t help but start giggling again.

“Bokuto, do you know what it means when someone pats your head and says ‘touch wood’?”

“I’m as hard as wood?” Bokuto cocks his head to the side curiously, and Hanamaki’s giggles begin anew at the unintentional innuendo.

“No, you birdbrain. It means that person is calling you a blockhead.”

Bokuto furrows his brow, lips pursed. “A blockhead is a stupid person, right?”

“Yeah.”

Bokuto suddenly falls over on his back, his head hitting the floor with a thump. Hanamaki is about to ask if he’s all right when he turns back to him, his big gold eyes sad.

“Kuroo was the one who called me a blockhead. And that was years ago during training camp. I always wondered why the team kept laughing at me.” His eyes are shiny, gold swimming under a sea of tears. “Does this mean Kuroo thinks I’m stupid?”

“Aww, Bo, of course not.” Hanamaki reaches out and cups his cheek, leaning in to press their foreheads together. “You were teens then, he probably thought of it as a joke.”

“But he’s my best bud! And he called me dumb!” Bokuto wails, his hand coming up to grasp Hanamaki’s. “I’ve been betrayed! And stabbed in the back! And- And- And–”

Hanamaki pulls his towel out from where it is trapped under his body and throws it over their heads, creating a little tent that blocks out most of the light. Immediately Bokuto’s hysterical rant dies down, and he lies there, gulping air while staring at Hanamaki.

Hanamaki attempts a smile, but does not speak until his breathing is quiet and even again. “Are you better now?”

“Yeah.” But there is still a quiet sadness swimming in his eyes, and he looks downtrodden. “Makki?”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t think I’m stupid, do you?”

“What? No, of course not.” But Bokuto still looks sad, so he rushes to explain.

“You’re very excitable and you like doing unusual things, but that doesn’t make you stupid, Bo. How could you be in one of the top universities in the country if you were stupid, huh?”

Bokuto pouts, as if he had not considered it before. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s luck.”

“Nah.” Hanamaki leans in again to brush their noses together, then rests his forehead against Bokuto’s. “You work so hard. It’s gotta be by your own merit. Nobody else I know gives so much, puts so much into whatever they do. You’re awesome, Bo.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Who else would check on me to make sure I didn’t die in the shower?”

“…”

“See? My guardian owl. I can trust you with anything.”

“Bro, that’s so gay.” Bokuto finally cracks a smile, leaning forward to bop Hanamaki’s nose with his own. Hanamaki grins and bumps back, and then they are bumping not just noses but their whole heads, exchanging blows until their foreheads are red and swollen.

“Okay, okay, time out.” Hanamaki laughs, pulling away and rubbing at his injured face. “Let’s go get dinner.”

“Okay!” Bokuto shoots to his feet and grabs Hanamaki’s hand to pull him up. “Yakiniku! There’s a sale at that shop downtown! If we go now, we can still make it!”

Hanamaki smiles at his roommate’s back as he allows himself to be manhandled.

Bokuto may be overly loud and enthusiastic, but he sure is a good friend.


	5. I Can't See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> Iwaoi "how long have you been standing there"

Iwaizumi shuffles a little bit closer to the counter, trying his best to see the menu without squinting. Damn it, why did he forget to wear his glasses out of the dorm this morning?

Oh right, because he had contacts, but those were lost when some asshole named Kuroo had skated up next to him and splashed dirty water into his eyes.

Okay, fine, so it was an accident, but now he was pretty much blind and he didn’t dare to ask what was on the menu. Lucky for him that he didn’t have any classes for the rest of the day.

“How long have you been standing there?”

Iwaizumi twists his head jerkily, coming face-to-face with a barista standing not too far from him. The guy is smirking at him (he thinks), and Iwaizumi has an irrational urge to punch his pretty face.

Did he just call the random barista pretty in his head? Ah gosh, he really needs his caffeine shot.

(How can he call the guy pretty when he can barely make out his features anyway? How ridiculous.)

Figuring that he has nothing to lose (the guy already caught him squinting anyway), Iwaizumi steps up to the counter and squints at the menu again.

_Curse this coffee shop and its tiny font._

The barista chuckles. “What, can’t see the menu? The font’s pretty big, you know.”

_No it isn’t, chocolate soft-serve hair._

“Do you have a hand-held menu I can look at?” He asks instead. Better not to get on the bad side of the guy going to prepare his drink.

“Nope.”

Iwaizumi grits his teeth. “Could you tell me what you have, then? I can’t see the board.”

The barista gasps dramatically. “Oh, you can’t? You poor dear. Here, let me read it out for you.”

He really wants to punch this guy. “Please, just tell me what you have. I just want to go back to my dorm and get my spectacles.”

“Oooh. You wear glasses?” The barista leans over the counter, chin in hand, and Iwaizumi can _hear_ the smirk in his voice. He resists the urge to facepalm.

“Yes. I don’t have them because I was wearing contacts, but those were ruined so now I’m practically blind. Do me a favour and just tell me what you have on your menu.”

The guy leans closer until Iwaizumi can just make out that his eyes are a pretty chocolate brown, the same shade as his hair. Unfortunately, he still can’t see his nametag.

“Well, we have cappuccinos and lattes and espressos, but we also have ice-blended drinks–”

“Do you have normal black coffee?” Iwaizumi cuts him off, trying to rearrange his face into a pleading look.  “I really want to go back to my dorm.”

The guy clicks his tongue. “So impatient.” Then he huffs a sigh and looks over Iwaizumi’s shoulder (or at least, he thinks he does, he can’t see very well). “Well, mister, it’s your lucky day. There aren’t many customers, so I’ll brew you whatever you want.”

Iwaizumi slumps in relief. 

“But!”

_Oh no, what now._

“You’ll have to give me your name and phone number!” 

_Is he serious._

Iwaizumi looks at the guy in the face and squints the best he can to blur out the proud grin. _Oh god he is._

“I don’t give my number to complete strangers.” He insists, folding his arms. 

The guy whines. “Aww, come on. What’s your name, then?”

Giving away his name couldn’t hurt. “Iwaizumi Hajime. What’s yours?”

The guy hums. “I’m wearing a nametag, you know.”

Iwaizumi tries to glare at him. "I’m very blind, you know. I can’t see your name.”

The guy whistles. “Wow. Your degree must be super high.”

“It is.” Iwaizumi wants to groan. “Now, please, tell me your name too, get me my drink, and we can go our separate ways in peace.”

The guy shrugs and bows briefly to him. “Oikawa Tooru. What drink did you want again, Iwa-chan?”

“Iwa-chan?” Iwaizumi splutters in disbelief. “What sort of a name is that? I’m not five!”

“But your name is so difficult to remember,” Oikawa whines. “So many syllables.”

“I’m not accepting that nickname. It’s terrible.”

“Well, too bad, Iwa-chan. I call people whatever I like.” He sets a to-go cup in front of Iwaizumi and rings up the register. “That will be 400 yen.”

Iwaizumi humphs but takes out the exact change. He can’t be bothered to answer, not when he’s at the end of his patience and he’s very angry that he can’t see. He grabs the cup and stalks out of the shop, but not before he hears Oikawa call, “Come back tomorrow! We’ve got muffins on offer!”

Iwaizumi grunts and walks out, focusing on the sidewalk as best as he can.

(He realises when he gets back that the coffee is made just the way he likes it, bitter and black, with none of the extra sugar that some baristas like to add in for him.)

(He tells himself that it’s not a good enough reason to go back to that coffee shop when he can just brew his own.)

(He still goes back the next day.)


	6. Glasses Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous: How about a continuation of *iwaoi* "How long have you been standing there" wherein iwachan wears his glasses on his next cafe visit hehe hehehe....~~~ ......(づ￣ ³￣)づ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Chapter 5

Iwaizumi sighs and pulls his spectacles off, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

 _Of course_ he had to forget to take out his contacts the night before, and now his eyes were all red and swollen. Curse soft lenses.

Someone narrowly dodges him, mumbling an apology as they speed away. He mutters an apology of his own and places his glasses back on his face, about to walk away when he catches a whiff of coffee.

Damn it, now he wants coffee.

He looks up and takes in his surroundings for the first time since leaving his dorm. The science blocks are over there, the arts buildings in the distance… That means that his favourite coffee shop is around the corner. He brightens up considerably at the thought.

He keeps his eyes on the ground for the rest of the walk, only looking up when he nearly crashes into someone.

_What the– Why are there so many people?!_

He tries to peer through the crowd (mostly girls, he notes), observing that there are two baristas outside the shop, allowing people in in groups of twos or threes. Iwaizumi is perplexed. 

Why would they need _crowd control_ for a coffee shop?

He waits for a minute, but the crowd does not budge, and the girls’ squealing is getting to him. Heaving a heavy sigh, he pulls his slingbag close to his body and begins elbowing his way through the crowd.

The first few girls turn around in affront, about to yell at whoever it was who shoved them, but one look at Iwaizumi and they shut up, shrinking away from him. 

(He would never admit it, but Iwaizumi loves scaring people out of his way. And if that doesn’t work, he is told he has exceptionally pointy elbows.)

It doesn’t take him all that long to reach the front of the crowd, and he grins to himself when his feet land on uncluttered sidewalk. The baristas look at him then, and wave in recognition.

“Iwaizumi-kun! Good to see you!” The grey-haired one greets, and he smiles cordially. 

“Suga. What’s the commotion?”

“Oikawa-san is working the cash register today,” the other barista says. His eyes are narrowed in irritation as he scans the crowd. “We’re only letting in real customers. Everyone else out here is just here to scream and try to get his number.”

Iwaizumi chuckles. “If it makes you feel any better, I probably injured at least five people who didn’t move out of my way when I was trying to get through.”

Akaashi brightens and smiles secretively. “Aim for ten next time.”

“Will do,” Iwaizumi says, and Suga opens the door to let him through.

The inside of the shop is a mess.

There is hysterical screaming as the girls flail, and Iwaizumi groans when he sees it’s because the person behind the register flashed them a peace sign. 

_I am not taking this shit so early in the morning._

He steps up to the other side of the counter and calls to the other barista he sees, purposefully ignoring the vain one. “Hey, Kenma. Can I get a black coffee please?”

The small blond looks up at him and nods, moving away to make his drink. At his movement, Oikawa looks up from his adoring fans, eyes darting about until they finally land on Iwaizumi.

“Iwa-chan!” He abandons the girls in an instant, bounding over to lean on the counter and grin at him. “I almost didn’t recognise you with the glasses!”

Iwaizumi grumbles. “I’m still me with the glasses, just uglier. Can I pay you now? I’ve got to get to class.”

Oikawa gasps dramatically, a hand to his heart. “Iwa-chan, don’t you want to stay longer in Oikawa-san’s presence?”

“No.”

“Meanie!” He sticks out his tongue, and all the girls cheer. Iwaizumi can feel a vein throbbing in his forehead.

“Just get me my drink, and let me go.”

“Nope!” Oikawa sings. “There’s a special price for your coffee today!”

_Ugh._

“What is it?”

_I really shouldn’t be this used to his stupid antics._

“I want a selfie with you!”

_What._

“What?”

Oikawa pouts, and the girls behind Iwaizumi sigh dreamily. “I don’t get to see Iwa-chan in glasses every day, I need to keep a momento!”

“No you don’t.” Iwaizumi wrinkles his nose. “I look awful with glasses.”

“You look very nice, Hajime.” Kenma pops up behind Oikawa with a to-go cup of coffee. “Just take the selfie. Tooru can cover costs.”

Iwaizumi was still hesitant. “I don’t think it’s very nice if I don’t pay.”

Kenma and Oikawa shook their heads. “You’re one of our best patrons. One free coffee isn’t going to hurt.”

“Oikawa-san!” A voice screams in Iwaizumi’s ear. “I want to take a selfie with you!”

“Not fair!”

“Me too, me too!”

Suddenly, all the girls are pressing forward, and Iwaizumi is pressed to the counter, the edge of the table digging into his ribs. Kenma’s pupils dilate at the sudden decibel increase and he scoots off. Iwaizumi wishes he could too, but he’s currently pinned to the counter by the excitable horde behind him.

“Oikawa, you asshole, faster take your damn selfie so I can leave!” Iwaizumi isn’t sure he could be heard over the screams of the girls, but Oikawa plasters on his widest smile and pulls out his phone.

The girls scream even louder, and Iwaizumi has to turn around to glare and push a girl away before he can stand on his feet properly. 

Before he knows it, an arm is looped round his neck, there is the faintest _click_ of the camera shutter, and Oikawa is pulling back triumphantly. 

“Thanks, Iwa-chan! Enjoy your coffee!”

Iwaizumi is so irritated by now that he just nods, grabs his coffee and walks away (fights his way out). 

He can always come back in the afternoon to make sure the photo came out all right.


	7. Pay Attention To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> holy heck matsuhana for the neck kiss pls I will die
> 
> 14\. Neck Kiss Come up behind the person you want to kiss. Lightly lick the back of their neck, then kiss the back of their neck a few times.

Hanamaki sneaks up behind his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and dropping his chin on his head. He breathes in the soft scent of Matsukawa’s hair, sighing happily to himself.

Under his weight, he can feel Matsukawa’s rumbling laugh. “Takahiro, what are you doing?”

“Appreciating my boyfriend. Shush.” Hanamaki buries his nose in the nest of black curls, breathing deep and sighing appreciatively. “It’s not fair that you smell so good all the time.”

Matsukawa laughs. “You do, too.”

“Naw, I don’t.” Hanamaki loosens his hold, slouching so that he can rest his forehead against the back of Matsukawa’s head. He blows lightly across the nape of his neck, chuckling when Matsukawa squirms. “Ticklish, are we?”

“Stop doing that on purpose.” His boyfriend grumbles, but he stops moving, and Hanamaki hears the flip of a page the second after.

He pouts. “Iiiisseeeeiiiii, pay attention to me.”

“No.” Another page flips. “Stop acting like Oikawa.”

Hanamaki snickers. “Like an oversized child, you mean?”

“I was thinking along the lines of ‘this ass who won’t let me read’, but that works too.”

The strawberry blond pouts. “Fine, fine, I’ll let you read.”

“Thank you.”

Hanamaki has _zero_ intention of letting him read.

Loosening his hold further, he slides down a little, until he is nose-to-nose with the back of Matsukawa’s neck. He sticks his tongue out and licks a few light stripes across it, hard enough that it doesn’t tickle, but light enough that it will leave him wondering.

After that, he presses a few kisses to the spot he licked, light brushes and firm touches, sliding motions up and down the small expanse of skin. Under his hands, he can feel Matsukawa shivering, and he grins, the smile pressed into reddened skin.

“Taka-” Oh good, his voice sounds kind of strangled, he must have done something right.

A cleared throat, a shaky voice. “Takahiro, I love you, a lot, but _what_ are you doing?”

“Well,” Hanamaki straightens and hooks his chin over Matsukawa’s shoulder, then turns to nuzzle his ear. “You didn’t want to let me love you, so I did the best I could. Bye now.”

Hanamaki pushes up and away, turning around to _casually_ stroll out of the room-

Only to bark out a laugh and break into a run when he hears thundering footsteps behind him, and suddenly strong arms are wrapped around his shoulders and the back of his knees, and he is swept up and away.

Matsukawa scowls at the giggling man in his arms, tightening his grip. “I could drop you. Tie you up and leave you in a corner while I finish my book. I had ten pages left, Hiro. _Ten._ ”

“Ten is too long.” Hanamaki grins up at him, and Matsukawa shakes his head, sighing in exasperation at himself and his weak will. He hoists Hanamaki more firmly into his arms, bending over to peck him on the nose.

“Give me fifteen minutes, okay? You can go prepare whatever needs to be prepared.”

Hanamaki’s eyes light up, and he wriggles out of Matsukawa’s arms, speeding off to the kitchen. “I’m getting the good ice cream, and you can’t stop me!”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” He mutters to himself, trudging back to the armchair and plopping himself in it.

Only ten more pages to movie night.


	8. Good Morning, Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> 15 with iwahana for the kiss meme ;) (with iwa kissing makki maybe?)
> 
> 15\. Neck Nibble Kiss Gently nibble up and down your partners neck. End with a gentle kiss on the lips.

Hanamaki blinks into awareness, staring at the orange sunlight painting across the ceiling. He wonders blearily what it was that woke him up. He’s usually never awake this early.

A light ghosting of skin across his neck answers his question.

The touch is brief, fleeting, skin skimming across skin, leaving a slightly ticklish, but lovely sensation in its wake.

Hanamki makes a big show of yawning, rolling over on his side so he can squash the person teasing his neck. “Hajime?”

He can feel Iwaizumi smile against his neck, feel his murmur of “Good morning”. 

He gasps when Iwaizumi nips gently at the curve of his Adam’s apple, and as he rears back, the shorter swoops in.

He can feel the touch of teeth on his warmed skin, sharp but not painful, playful nibbles that sweep down his neck and up again. Lips pull at the stretched skin as well, lightly tugging and allowing it to snap back, tiny little bites that make him feel like a savoured pastry.

Iwaizumi finally decides that he has tortured him enough, and brushes his lips across the ravished area, pecking his way up until his lips lock with Hanamaki’s, a playful glint in his eye. He pulls back, leaning back in to peck him lightly on the lips, smiling as he drops back against the pillows.

“Good morning, Takahiro.”


	9. I Wish It Could Have Been Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> Pov
> 
> POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from Oikawa’s POV in [The Moment I Knew](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8162587).

He is beautiful.

Even draped in melancholy, even with red-rimmed eyes and a face swollen from crying, he is ethereal, otherworldly, and so, so, so beautiful.

He steps out from the crowd and offers his hand, a practiced smile on his face.

The smile stays, even through the announcement of their engagement, even through the forced, tight-lipped smile Hanamaki gives him.

He is beautiful, and he belongs to him.

But he doesn’t.

The orchestra starts up a slow song, and Oikawa bows before taking Hanamaki by the hand and sweeping him into a slow dance. 

He knows he should say something. He knows he should whisper his condolences, because he knows too. He knows which of the invited parties did not turn up, did not approach the dais to refute their engagement.

He is glad he did not come, but at the same time, he is resentful.

Hanamaki deserves better.

So he gathers up the miniscule bits of courage he does have, bends to whisper in his ear.

_I’m sorry._

His betrothed grips his lapels tightly, buries his face in his shirt. He can feel his trembling, feels the inaudible sob hiccupped against his chest.

His heart aches, but as he gathers him close, he feels his heart soar.

Hanamaki’s heart will never belong to him, not really, but for this moment, and for the rest of his life, Oikawa gets to be selfish, gets to hold him, even if he can never really love him in the same way.

But deep, deep, deep under the practiced smiles and perfect mask, a little boy is curled up, crying.


	10. Take A Swing With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> 6\. Hanging a porch swing together (the domestic prompts) matsuhanaiwaoi

“That’s not how you do it.”

“Shh. Everyone has their own way of doing things.”

“Hiro, if that thing falls down and _kills_ us-”

“Have more faith in me, geez.”

“I told you not to start without me,” an exasperated voice comes from the back door, and both of them turn to see Iwaizumi leaning against the doorframe, his brows furrowed.

Hanamaki brightens, spreading his arms dramatically and nearly hitting Matsukawa with the hammer. “Hajime! Join us!”

“Oi, be careful with that.” He comes over and plucks the hammer from his hand, setting it beside the toolbox carefully. “You could kill someone with that thing.”

“Yeah,” Matsukawa sniffs. “I thought you loved me, but no, it seems you were planning my demise all this time.”

“Oh, no, you’ve discovered my evil plan,” Hanamaki deadpans. “Guess I’ll just have to kill you now instead of later.”

“Wha-”

Hanamaki jumps at Matsukawa, causing both of them to tumble off the porch and onto the soft grass of their backyard. They swipe at each other, rolling back and forth, poking sides and tugging on hair and clothing, uncaring of the leaves and dirt and grass accumulating on them.

Iwaizumi watches their childish fight with a sigh. Well, he’d better get to work.

Oikawa pokes his head out of the back door, eyeing the two on the grass with amusement. He goes over to Iwaizumi, kneeling beside him and looking at the plans over his shoulder. “How goes it?”

Iwaizumi sighs. “Well, I think the previous occupants tried to install a porch swing as well. Do you see that joist - that supporting beam - with the hole in it?”

“Yeah?”

“I think they didn’t use a long enough eyebolt. I’ll check if it’s clear and do the necessary, after which we can install the eyebolts and hang the swing.”

“Will it be structurally firm?”

Iwaizumi frowns at the ceiling. “I think so. The joists are evenly spaced. Just right for the size of our swing.”

Oikawa smiles and pats him on the back. “I’ll get the ladder.”

* * *

Matsukawa and Hanamaki get up eventually and help to install the swing, Matsukawa reaching up to hang the chains with Iwaizumi while Hanamaki and Oikawa support the swing from below.

All of them are panting by the time they are done - because damn, that swing is _heavy_ \- but as they flop onto the grass, watching the breeze rock the swing, they can’t help but feel accomplished.

“That thing is supposed to be able to withstand all of us at once, isn’t it?”

“It should, theoretically.” Oikawa hums, rolling onto his side, his arm tucked under his head. “Too tired to try.”

“Got that right. Manual labour sure is tough.” Hanamaki sighs, staring up at the darkening sky, watching the clouds float by their house.

“Shut up, you idiots,” Iwaizumi grumbles, but his eyes are fluttering closed as well. “I did most of the work.”

“Yes, Bara-chan, we appreciate your hard work.” Matsukawa glances over, smirking at the small frown on Iwaizumi’s face. “Thank you for being responsible.”

Iwaizumi grumbles under his breath, but the frown disappears. Matsukawa smiles, his eyes fond. “Hey children, what are you supposed to say when someone does something nice for you?”

Maybe it is their exhaustion, maybe it is the time of the day that guards are lowered and filters are removed, but the other two stir, and murmur their thanks.

“Thank you, Iwa-chan.”

“Thanks, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi shuffles, turns onto his side, yawning. “No problem.”

Matsukawa lets his head drop back onto the grass, eyes sliding closed as the last bits of orange filter out of the sky. They should probably move into the house, but he figures it’s okay if they rest for a little while longer.


	11. Missing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> 34\. "It's not like I missed you or anything" matsuhanaiwaoi (fuel my needy self pls)

The front door slams, the whisper of voices reaching him from his place on the couch. Matsukawa turns to look over his shoulder, smiling at his boyfriends as they enter the living room. “Welcome home.”

“We’re home.” The familiar chorus, words said on automatic, in voices that are heavy with tiredness and devoid of life, they make him sad, because they have to work nine to five jobs, jobs that involve dressing up and going to offices and slaving away behind computers. All while he sits at home on their comfortable couch and types away at his laptop for hours, pouring out words and images only he can see and hear.

(They do almost the same thing, but at least _he_ doesn’t need to socialise with people, doesn’t need to keep in others’ good graces to keep his job.)

He moves his laptop and stands so they can sit on the couch instead, and they do, sinking into the cushions with groans of relief. 

“Man, what a day.”

“I officially hate accountants and finance.”

“Have you met demanding, self-entitled patients? Oh, the horror.”

Matsukawa smiles as they beguile him with tales of their horrible day at work, the same as every other night, the same as every day that passes them by. The longer he listens, the less he wants to smile, the less he wants to keep being emotionally available for them, because _damn_ , listening is so tiring.

He interrupts Iwaizumi as gently as he can, turning to face the kitchen. “What do you guys want to eat? I’ll make it now, and you can tell me about your day while it’s cooking.”

Hanamaki pipes up immediately, always ready at the offer of food. “Karaage.”

Oikawa is next. “Vegetables. What do we have left?”

Iwaizumi just smiles. “Why not we have tantanmen?”

Matsukawa grins, a real smile this time. “That would work.”

(Trust Iwaizumi to remember that he loves tantanmen, even though he prefers shoyu ramen.)

They head to the kitchen, still babbling about their days, even as Matsukawa pulls out ingredients from the fridge, substituting the minced pork for shredded chicken and pulling out some leafy vegetables to go on top.

Iwaizumi is the one who steps up next to him, pulls out the packets of ramen and sets the water to boil, while Oikawa and Hanamaki try to compete over whose day was worse. Their lively arguing lifts Matsukawa’s spirits a little; he _had_ missed them. They spend so much time out of the house that dinner is the only real time of the day that they see each other.

Iwaizumi nudges him with his shoulder, a small, tired smile on his face. “Hey. How was your day?”

 _Tiring_ , Matsukawa wants to say, but doesn’t, doesn’t elaborate on how he spent most of the day seated on their balcony, looking down at people bustling along, people with _real_ jobs, while he sits there, doing nothing much, essentially being a waste of space. 

He must have been silent too long, because Iwaizumi nudges him again, asks him if he’s all right. He looks at him, his facade slipping, and whispers to the vegetables, “It was fine. Not like I missed you guys or anything.”

Iwaizumi frowns, but before he can question further, Matsukawa turns away to drop the noodles into the boiling water, bustling around the kitchen to make himself look busy.

He doesn’t say anything about it to Iwaizumi again while he cooks, eventually shooing him away and declaring that all of them need to take showers. They leave semi-reluctantly, stuck to their chairs by the promise of food that is almost ready.

Matsukawa sighs as he’s left alone again, taking comfort in the soft bubbling of the pot, in the spicy scent of the broth, in the clockwork motions of setting the table. It’s familiar, but brings with it a sense of melancholy, a dash of bitterness, because he’s the one who does the housework most of the time, being confined to the house as he is, and sometimes, looking round at the empty house, without even with the rhythmic _tick-tock_ of a clock to follow him, he just misses them so much.

He plasters on a smile as they come back into the kitchen, scooping the broth into bowls and setting it at their places, chopsticks and spoons set beside their bowls, ready for them to eat.

He realises with a start how domestic it is, and nearly laughs to himself. Never in a million years had he imagined that he’d be playing the traditional role as wife in the household, the only exception to the role being that he could not give birth. It’s a saddening thought, that he cannot share the domestic ‘spirit’ with his lovers, because they are always too busy to do such things.

He misses them. More than he can stand, too much more than he wants to admit.

_They’re busy, they’re the ones who are actually bringing in money. I can’t trouble them like that._

So he smiles instead, listens to them talk while slurping his noodles, plays footsie under the table with one of them (probably Hanamaki) until Iwaizumi looks over and they freeze, like children caught doing something wrong.

He does the dishes after, and Oikawa helps him to dry the bowls, setting them neatly on the counter. After the last chopstick is cleaned and dried, the brunet turns to face him, lunging forward and burying his face in his chest.

Matsukawa catches him, his surprise evident, but smiles serenely, his heart emitting a pang of bittersweet affection at the oversized child in his arms.

“Issei?” A quiet mumble, a lilting question, a word heavy with enquiries, burdened with the insinuation that something is wrong.

(He may be reading too much into it.)

“Hmm?”

“I missed you.”

He missed him.

He…missed him?

Matsukawa pulls back to gape at Oikawa, but the brunet refuses to let him move, squeezing him more tightly, burying his nose in the hollow of his neck.

Oikawa tilts his head up a little, peeking up from under his fringe, his eyes large and soulful. “I love you, you know?”

Matsukawa bites his lip, nodding slowly. He forces a smile, not trusting himself to speak, not when his throat is suddenly clogged up with unshed tears.

There’s the pitter-patter of feet, and Hanamaki pokes his head into the kitchen, grinning. “Oi, Tooru, it’s my turn to love Issei. Give him up.”

Oikawa burrows into Matsukawa’s hold more securely, twisting his head to stick out his tongue. “No.”

“You can sleep next to him tonight.”

“Promise?”

“I get Hajime, I’m not complaining.”

“Oi, stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

Oikawa leans up to press a kiss to his cheek, nuzzling into the shadow of a forming beard. “How could we ever forget that you’re here?”

The words hit him like a truck, but before he can fall, Oikawa is skipping away and Hanamaki has grabbed him by the hand and is pulling him towards the bathroom.

He is unceremoniously stripped and pushed into the bathtub, and just as he splutters and comes back up for air, he’s being pushed down again, there are warm arms coming from behind him, and something cool is poured on his scalp.

Long fingers thread through his hair, rubbing the gel into a foam, kneading and scraping and tugging, and he promptly forgets everything that he had been thinking about before. All he can do is moan with pleasure.

Hanamaki chuckles, tugging on his curls. “Head down. Gotta wash that off.”

It feels nice to be bossed around and pampered, so he lets Hanamaki have his way, lets him push and pull him at will. He’s half-aware of having his back scrubbed, when he suddenly finds the drain plug pulled, the showerhead rinsing off the last of the suds, and Hanamaki is bundling him up in a towel, rubbing him down vigorously.

He feels like a child again, but he’s not complaining. Even if it is all a dream, it’s an extremely nice one.

“Iiiisseeeiiii.” Hanamaki stops towelling his hair, and peeps up through the folds of towel, teasing smirk in place. “Come on, this is where you thank me for showering you and treating you like a king.”

“Thank you, esteemed servant.” He deadpans, and Hanamaki grins, tiptoeing to rub their noses together.

“I love you, you big dork.”

(It’s a stab in his heart, hard enough that the breath leaves him in a rush.)

_He loves me._

The other two are seated on their bed when they get to the bedroom, and Iwaizumi looks up with a lopsided grin. “Issei, come here. I’ve got a gift for you.”

“Oh?” Matsukawa raises an eyebrow, but allows Hanamaki to shove him towards the bed. “What is it?”

“Lie down, and you’ll find out.”

So he does, warily, moving so cautiously that Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and tugs him forward, pushing him face-down on the bed. The next thing he notices is a pair of knees straddling his hips, and an offended _oof_ escapes when Iwaizumi sits on him.

“Hajime- What are you doing-”

A high keen shorts out the rest of his sentence as a pair of thumbs dig under his shoulder blades, pressing hard and rubbing in circles. Matsukawa grips the sheets under his hands, groaning into the bed at the pleasurable torture inflicted on his back.

There’s light murmuring above him, and something cool drips onto his skin, only to be swept up and rubbed along his spine in comforting circular motions. His brain comes back to life momentarily, just long enough to maybe identify the liquid poured onto his clean back.

_Essential oil or massage oil._

Iwaizumi’s hands are skillful, pressing up and down his spine, rubbing circles and kneading at the tense muscles all along his back. It’s painful and ticklish at first, but soon gives way to a comfortable ache, the feel of stiff muscles being kneaded back into a relaxed state.

He’s warm and drowsy by the time Iwaizumi lifts off of him, halfway to unconsciousness. He thinks he’s rolled over onto one side of the bed, with the covers draped halfway across him, leaving his upper half exposed to the air.

His eyes are still closed when something warm presses to the inside of his wrist, to the back of his hand, to his palm and arm and tracing its way up, to his shoulders and neck and finally brushing across his cheek.

“Goodnight, sleep tight. Don’t let Takahiro bite.” Matsukawa feels like smiling, but the voice fades away, leaving behind a fleeting memory, like a dream.

Cool skin brushes across his forehead, presses to each of his cheeks, lands on the tip of his nose and pecks the edge of his lips.

“I love you, you big teddy bear.”

Then he is gone, and rough hands cup his cheeks, soft, pillowy flesh presses against his mouth, and he thinks he presses back, but it’s a dream, and he can’t control his body.

“You are so, so precious to us.”

A feathery touch across each eyelid, and the hands move away, replaced by a warm body by his side, long arms and legs wrapped around him and a little giggle by his ear.

“Lights out. Goodnight, Issei.”

A chorus, a song sung, a tired but sweet melody echoing around the room.

“We love you.”

This time, even as Oikawa shifts closer, snuggles into his arm, he’s sure his lips pull up into a smile.


	12. Fight Me (My Pastry Is Better)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> "fight me, you attractive stranger." With hanaoi maybe please c:

This was it. Finally, the day had come.

The grand re-opening of his favourite bakery.

_Just five more hours, five more hours…_

Oikawa set his alarm, fully intending on being at the bakery three hours before their stated opening time. No one else he knew was as much of a pastry fanatic as he was (”Iwa-chan, come with me!” “I’m not waking up that early for bread, dumbass!”), and his whole neighbourhood was full of old people who preferred to take a lazy morning.

He figured three hours before opening time was pretty safe.

He swiped at his alarms, set a few extra just in case, before finally placing the phone on his bedside table. He was wriggling too much in excitement to actually sleep.

x.x.x.x.x

He made it. The sky was still dark, but he made it. Only two more blocks to the bakery.

He rounded the corner, humming happily to himself, because _surely_ no one was awake at this ungodly hour.

He was wrong.

At first, Oikawa thought the dark shape leaning against the wall of the bakery was a dog, but the closer he came, the more obvious it became that the uneven shadow was the cause of bulky jackets, and it was an actual person sitting right in front of the bakery.

What. The. Hell.

(Okay, he had no reason to freak out - second in line wasn’t too bad - but him? Second in line? Who was this guy, and who did he think he was to steal his spot-)

He flopped down next to the guy with an angry (and loud) ‘humph!’, and was only slightly placated when the guy started and fell over.

(Okay, he had to admit that it was highly amusing.)

The guy peered at him through sleep-crusted eyes, his face pinched as he tried to squint against the glare of the streetlamp. “Who’re you?”

Oikawa turned his nose up, saying haughtily, “None of your business.”

(Okay, maybe the guy was a little cute, but he _stole his spot_.)

The guy blinked blearily, then looked him up and down, sniffing lightly. “Fine, be that way. So long ‘s you’re not a hobo.”

Oikawa scoffed. “I’m here for the bakery. And I look too good to be a hobo, please.”

The guy tilted his head to the side, smirking. “Oho? That’s a bold statement to make, with that bedhead.”

The brunet resisted the urge to pet his hair; he _knew_ he had styled it to perfection earlier. Instead, he struck a pose, tossing invisible tresses over his shoulder. “Please. My hair is fabulous.”

“Oh, yes, fabulously fluffy.” The stranger deadpanned. “What are you, a dog?”

Oikawa let out an offended gasp, hand over his heart. “How could you say that? I, the great Oikawa Tooru-”

“Nice to meet you, _Oikawa-san_ ,” the other drawled. “If you are really that great, you wouldn’t give your name out to strangers so readily.”

“I’m doing you a favour here,” Oikawa informed him, though he did feel an embarrassed blush creep up his neck. “Most people would die to be talking to me, and I even gave you my name.”

(There was a little scoff in the back of his head that sounded eerily like Iwaizumi, but he ignored it.)

(Why was he still talking to the stranger who stole his spot?)

The stranger tapped his chin, as if deep in thought. “If that was a ploy to get my name, you failed miserably.”

Oikawa shrugged. “It makes no difference to me. You’re just another guy waiting for the bakery to open.”

“Ah, yes,” the guy rested his chin on his knees, looking up at Oikawa through his eyelashes, a small smirk spreading across his face. “Who would’ve thought that there would be someone else who loves pastries like I do?”

“You’re clearly more obsessed than me. How long have you been here?”

“Oh, since last night.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The guy snorted. “Why do you think I have so many jackets out in fall? I obviously stayed here overnight.”

“And here I thought you were being your sarcastic, lovable self.”

“Oh, you think I’m lovable?”

Oikawa bit his tongue. He hadn’t meant for that to slip out. “Now, I wouldn’t know that, would I? We’ve only just met.”

The guy eyed him with amusement. “Oh, but first meetings always end up in something else, don’t you think?”

“We’re sitting in single digit degree weather outside a bakery, not a bar.” Oikawa shot back. “If you’re trying to pick me up, you need to do better than that.”

“Nah, not worth it.” The guy turned his gaze away, tilting his head back to squint at the streetlamp. “What bread were you hoping on buying here anyway?”

“Milk bread.” Oikawa answered automatically. “There’s nothing better than their milk bread, with how warm and fluffy it is when it first comes out of the oven, how sweet its texture and flavour is, how crispy the thin layer of skin is on the outside-”

“Okay man, hold it right there.” The stranger shoved a hand in Oikawa’s face, his eyes blazing. “You’ve got it all wrong. It’s their _profiteroles_ that are the best. Those bite-sized morsels of goodness with their crispy outsides and fluffy insides, and the perfect sweetness of the whipped cream within. How the flavour explodes in your mouth-”

“Unless we’re talking about flavoured cream, that sound pretty bland.”

“You shut it, Mr Milk Bread.” A finger jabbed him in the arm, the stranger’s face inches from his. “What is bland is your precious milk bread, like, come on, it’s just bread, maybe a bit sweeter than normal, but still only bread-”

“ _Excuse_ me? Milk bread is the finest bread there is to exist, thank you!”

“Profiteroles are so much better, don’t you argue with me.”

“Oh yeah? You wanna go?”

“That’s right. Fight me, you attractive stranger.”

Oikawa opened his mouth to retort, but then his brain caught up with his mouth, and his jaw was left hanging. “Did you just call me attractive?”

The guy blanched and pulled back, though he tried to look nonchalant. “Oh, did I? Must be your imagination-”

“No, no, no.” Oikawa closed the distance between them, grinning ferally once they were nose-to-nose. “You called me attractive. This is great, this is progress.”

“Huh?” The guy looked confused, and Oikawa had to stifle his giggle. 

“I said, this is progress. Now repeat after me, ‘Milk bread is the best’.”

The guy blinked, then scowled. “I am not saying that! Profiteroles are the best!”

Oikawa sighed heavily, pulling back to sit in his own spot. “Ah, well, it was worth a shot.”

There was silence for a moment, and Oikawa was about to break it when the guy hesitantly said, “You’re not offended that I think you’re attractive?”

The brunet blinked. “What? _No_. I mean, if all girls find me attractive, there are bound to be some guys too-”

“Oh, shut it.” The guy grumbled. “Forget I ever asked.”

Oikawa laughed, leaning sideways to knock the guy’s shoulder with his own. “Well, if it gives you peace of mind, I don’t like everyone who confesses to me. Just those who give me their names.”

“…this is another ploy to get my name.” Oikawa could hear the smile in his voice. “But okay.”

“Eh- What-”

The guy turned to face him, pulling the hood off his head so that he could see him clearly. He smirked and bowed slightly, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Nice to meet you, Oikawa. I’m Hanamaki Takahiro. Oh, and profiteroles are the best.”

Oikawa smiled and bowed back, repeating his own “Nice to meet you” before Hanamaki’s words sunk in.

“No, milk bread is the best.”

“Profiteroles.”

“Milk bread.”

“Profiteroles.”

“Milk bread.”

(When the owners finally opened the shop two hours later, they found the two still at it, half-heartedly arguing back and forth while leaning on each other sleepily.)


	13. 1 + 3 = ∞

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> Hiii! It's me from ao3, same username and stuff. Can you do an omegaverse story? If you're comfortable with this, id like something with Makki being omega and then the rest being alphas. With him getting hurt or hit on or something and the others rescue him and cuddles? I was redirected to you by @seijouho! Thank you!! I love your writings for matsuhanaiwaoi! Xx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> Rape

Hanamaki panted harshly, bending over, hands on knees.

Five blocks… Just five more blocks to his pills and safety.

Damnit. Why did his heat have to be so irregular all the time?

He hated it. He hated that he was the weak one, hated that his body was subject to hormonal fluctuations, that he had to suffer bouts of crippling disability just because he was born with a genetic quirk that said he would be _special_.

He didn’t want to be special. He wanted to be _normal_.

Was it really too much to ask?

(Apparently it was.)

He could already feel the swooping sensation in his stomach, the building anticipation and throbbing in his veins that warned that the next wave was coming.

He needed to get home before the next wave started.

He pushed himself upright, taking a shaky breath before unlocking his frozen legs and starting to run.

He was three blocks away when his heat hit in full force, his skin burning up, knees buckling.

He had to stop before he fell over, bending to grip his knees desperately, trying to suppress the scent he knew he was emanating, biting his lip in hope that the pain would push away the desire burning in his blood. He could feel the slick leaking out of him, and the stickiness in his underwear made him slightly sick.

Three blocks. Three.

He could make it. He could make it.

A shadow fell over him, and he could smell the greed and desire coming off the other in waves. It was strong, bitter musk, the scent of a powerful alpha.

He was in so much trouble.

Large hands gripped his shoulders, hauled him upright. An ugly face painted with a leer shoved itself at him, the gap between their faces almost non-existent.

“Pretty, pretty omega. Whatcha doin’ out here on your own, hmm?” Lust-filled eyes swept down his body, the dirty gaze making him shudder.

_Out, out, out. I need out. Please, please, someone, help me._

_Hajime, Tooru, Issei, someone,_ please _, help me._

The strange alpha sniffed his neck greedily, then pulled back, nose wrinkled. “You smell like another alpha.” He sniffed again, lips pulling back to show sharpened canines. “Three alphas. Whoring yourself out, hmm?” 

His obsidian eyes glinted, a tongue darting out to lick chapped lips. His voice was roughened with animalistic lust, deep and scraping. “No matter. What’s one more when you’ve already had three, especially when you’re in heat?”

Hanamaki wanted to scream at him, shout that he was not ‘whoring himself’, that those scents were from his chosen alphas, but his thoughts were getting cloudier, dulled from the haze of hormones. He caught another whiff of the foreign alpha and shivered involuntarily, every logical molecule in his body screeching for him to _run, run! Run from this monster!_ But he couldn’t, not when his body was weak and limp, unresponsive to his will, not when his instincts were telling him to cower and dip his head, and be the submissive omega that he was programmed to be.

He wanted to scream and shout and fight back, but what he got instead was another hot gush of slick spilling out, a spike of desire that had his knees buckling, and his cock rising to half-mast.

_(It hurts, it hurts, it hurts; oh god, please, I need someone right now, please, something, anything, just take this ache away-)_

_(Put it in me, hard and fast, I don’t care, fuck me dry but just take this edge off, please please please-)_

(Somewhere, somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, where he was still coherent, he vaguely remembered that this was why he hated his body so much.)

The alpha’s eyes dilated at the scent of his weakness, drool collecting in the corners of his mouth. His eyes darted about, seemingly confused when he saw no-one. “Well, if those alphas don’t want you anymore, it’s my turn.” 

When Hanamaki didn’t respond, he let out a low growl of impatience and yanked the strawberry blond along after him. Hanamaki wanted to pull away, or even to look up to see where he was going, but his brain was already half-melted; it was all he could do to stay upright and stumble along, trying not to let his legs brush together as he walked.

(If he was good, maybe he’d be rewarded, maybe someone would help him out-)

(Didn’t he have people who would help him?)

(He didn’t know and it didn’t matter, it just _hurt so bad-_ )

_(Tooru, Issei, Hajime, help, help, help-)_

x.x.x.x.x

Iwaizumi stepped out of the kitchen and walked to their small foyer, pulling on his running shoes. 

He knew Hanamaki had gone for his run when he woke up and found only two warm bodies instead of three, and huffed with exasperation at the thought of him going out alone.

Honestly, one would have thought that he would be more careful, especially because his heat was irregular and he had no idea when it would come on, but _nope_ , he was as careless and carefree as ever. It was infuriating (mostly because Iwaizumi worried a lot), but none of them wanted to impose any rules on him, especially because of how oppressed omegas usually were.

Iwaizumi sighed and opened their front door, enjoying the slight breeze that floated in, cooling his skin.

He froze suddenly, hackles rising, a low growl slipping from between his teeth.

Without bothering to pull his shoes off, he dashed back into the house, throwing the bedroom door open violently. 

The slam of the door against the wall was so loud that Matsukawa fell off the bed, and Oikawa was awake in a millisecond.

“Hajime…? What…?”

“Shoes, shirt, pants, now.” He barked, scooping up some clothes from the floor and tossing it the duo. “Takahiro’s in trouble.”

That woke them up completely.

They were out of the door and running in under two minutes.

x.x.x.x.x

Hanamaki whimpered, his hands curled into fists as he braced against the wall. The foreign alpha was breathing into his neck, mouthing along the expanse of skin, teeth scraping down his neck, just enough to scent-mark him but not yet enough to leave a hickey.

The wall was rough on his sensitive skin, the bumps and indents digging hard enough into him that he was partially pulled out of his drunken stupor. He turned away when the alpha reached for his face, trying to choke back a sob.

This was wrong, wrong, _wrong_. This alpha was foreign and disgusting and oh god, was that his _dick_ digging into his backside? Oh no, oh no no no-

“C’mon, slut, show me that pretty face of yours.” His head was thrown back when the other yanked on his hair, and he squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to let him hear him scream.

“Oh, suddenly shy, are we? Well, I like them timid too.”

Hanamaki’s eyes flew open when his pants were pushed down, and a choked sob escaped when he felt a hand drag up his thighs, easily parting his legs no matter how he tried to squeeze them shut.

_No, no, no. Help, please, someone, help me-_

A finger slid between his cheeks, circling his entrance, and he shuddered, fingernails digging into his palms as he resisted the urge to grind down on it because _it hurts, it hurts, I need more than this, oh please, oh please-_

An enraged roar threw his thoughts into disarray, and he immediately dropped and cowered, head tucked into his knees, his entire body trembling.

It was just as well, because the stranger was thrown off of him, a loud smack somewhere off to his left telling him where he landed.

Large hands slid around his shoulders in the next second, and he shrunk away from the touch, inhaling sharply-

Only to relax and sink into the familiar scent of one of his boyfriends, nose tilted upwards to his neck, where the scent was strongest.

_Issei, Issei, Issei- You’re here, you’re here, I’m safe now, I’m safe, I’m safe-_

His eyes shot open - when had he closed them? - when he heard the dull smack of bone meeting skin, the image of Oikawa and Iwaizumi bearing down on his assaulter greeting him.

The strange alpha was furious, teeth bared and eyes narrowed, even as one of his eyes remained closed. Hanamaki realised one of them must have punched him, and as he smelt the faint tang of blood, heard a drop splash onto the pavement, saw Oikawa curl and uncurl his fingers, he felt a pang of guilt.

_You shouldn’t have to get injured for me._

Iwaizumi growled louder, and Hanamaki could smell the anger roiling off him, dark and heavy and reeking of power. “You have two seconds to run, or I’ll bash your face in.”

The other snarled and snapped his teeth. “If you’re his alpha, why did you let him out on his heat? Everyone knows that any free-roaming omega in heat is fair game.”

Oikawa darted forward to punch his other eye, skipping back when he swung blindly. “Makki is allowed to do whatever he wants. It’s called free will, you entitled asshat.”

“Why you-”

Iwaizumi stepped up, fist connecting with his jaw hard enough that he flew back, crashing to the ground with a pained howl. Hanamaki shivered at the violence, turning to tuck his face into Matsukawa’s chest. Long arms wrapped all the way around him, murmuring in his ear, but it wasn’t enough to block out the cracks of bone and squelch of flesh. 

It seemed like an eternity - _growls and snapping teeth, thwacks and slaps and the crunch of bone, howls of pain, colourful cursing, a black cloud of furious emotion_  -  before the sounds and smells of fighting finally, finally, gave way to pleas for mercy.

The bitter tang of anger began fading from the air, washed away on the slight breeze sweeping the alley, and with it, his panic. As he sucked in a breath of clean air, Hanamaki realised he was breathing softly; shallow huffs of breath that wouldn’t draw attention to him.

(Force of habit, a habit he should break.)

He took a deep, shuddering breath, felt Matsukawa nudge his temple gently with his nose. 

It was okay, he was okay; _they_ were okay.

But now he had another problem. The longer Hanamaki sat on the ground, huddled in Matsukawa’s arms, the more aware he became of the cold air brushing along his exposed backside, bringing with it memories of his ordeal and a crushing wave of humiliation.

He gnawed on his lip to keep the tears at bay, anger at himself sitting heavy on his heart. Why, why did he have to be this way? Why couldn’t he be normal? Why couldn’t he be stronger, fight harder against his weakness, be less susceptible to attacks from irritating, entitled assholes?

As if to mock him, the slow burn started up in his stomach again, a fresh trail of slick dripping out of him.

Hanamaki’s hands curled into fists, twin trails of tears slipping down his cheeks as the hormonal haze crept over his mind, dulling his senses.

He felt Matsukawa’s arms tighten around him, felt himself being lifted, felt his pants being tugged back over his hips. He thought he heard Matsukawa call out to the others, thought he heard them come over, and then he was wrapped in a cocoon of comforting scents, all three of his alphas surrounding him, protecting him.

He gasped when fingers glanced by his arm, heat trailing in their wake.

He smelt their worry, heard them come to a murmured conclusion, and then he was being jostled and bumped as they began moving. The burn of his heat made any movement uncomfortable, and then there was the empty ache inside of him that longed to be filled, longed for a mate’s touch.

He thought he made some embarrassing, needy noise, because they were suddenly moving more quickly, whispering words of reassurance, touching his hair briefly in comfort.

He was lost, the cloudy quality of his thoughts not dissipating even as the fire in his body amplified, and he was sure he made some noise this time, because _it hurts, please, I’m so empty, please, fill up this ache-_

A door slamming, shuffling that could be shoes shucked off, and then there were cool sheets under him, and he clutched them desperately, the fire burning him up from the inside.

Rough hands tore his clothes off, and his eyes shot open to see his three alphas hovering over him, their eyes blown black, their scents heady, intoxicating.

He tried to reach out, but could barely lift his hand, a broken whimper escaping as he looked into each of their eyes.

They moved all at once, in sync with each other, in perfect understanding of what he needed.

Oikawa bent over him, crushing their lips together, teeth tugging and nipping, licking into his mouth like he was starved of the taste of him. His hands were buried in his hair, pulling his head back to expose his neck. The brunet bent to nose the expanse of skin, growling at the scent of the foreign alpha on him. Before Hanamaki could process anything, teeth sunk into his neck, and lips slid over the spot, sucking hard enough to leave marks.

He gasped again when he felt something hot and wet slide over the head of his cock. Then he was being engulfed, his whole length being taken in, the tight heat almost too much to bear. Just as suddenly, he was sliding out, and something dipped into his slit. He didn’t have enough breath to gasp out loud when lips pulled off with a _pop_ he felt more than heard, and then there was a tongue licking a stripe up his cock while another hand cupped his balls, rolling and massaging them, alternating between kneading gently and pressing hard, spikes of pleasure and pain building the inferno in his belly.

His legs were hoisted up and thrown over shoulders, and a strangled cry escaped when he felt something hot and pliant prod his hole, swirling around the slick still dripping out of him, pressing flat and licking around it, laving at the skin until all the stickiness was gone.

A half-groan, half-moan fell from his lips next when the tongue began prodding for entry, lightly dipping before diving in, gently nudging before ferociously pushing. It was a tortuously slow yet frantic pace, the erratic thrusts pushing him ever closer to the brink.

There were too many sensations, too many sensitive spots that were being deliciously tormented. They built up, piling on to each other, adding and adding and adding until they hit the breaking point. 

His hands scrabbled for purchase before fisting in the sheets, just before the fire in his belly exploded, white-hot pleasure sparking over his vision, a high that came from waiting too long.

He wasn’t sure if he screamed, but his throat was tight from the lack of breath, closed up around a cry of raw pleasure.

When he could finally breathe again, he opened his eyes to see three sets of eyes staring at him, their gazes hungry, though the lines around their eyes were soft. 

He tried to smile, but he was too tired, emotionally and physically spent from the morning’s events.

“I-” His voice was croaky, so he swallowed and tried again. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

They scrutinised him for a while longer, but he neither looked nor smelt like he was in distress. Finally satisfied, they breathed sighs of relief, crawling up his body to pepper his face and neck with kisses, rubbing their faces against him until he was sure he’d be covered in their scents for days to come. 

Hanamaki reached out to thread his fingers through soft hair, now matted with sweat and exertion, sighing at the ache in his body, and also at the pressure building up in his belly yet again. “How about-”

“A bath?”

“Soup?”

“Sex?”

Three heads whipped towards Matsukawa, glaring holes in him. The tallest shrugged helplessly. “Well, Hiro _is_ on his heat.”

Hanamaki laughed, the sound soft and exhausted. “Bath first. I’m so tired, but I swear my body will find a way to slot sex in there somehow.”

“Then it’s settled.” Matsukawa scooped him up and marched him to the bathroom despite his yelps of protest, Oikawa’s laughter and Iwaizumi’s sighs following them. “Bath, sex, soup, and probably more sex.”

“A man after my own heart.” Hanamaki deadpanned.

“Only the best for you, my love.” Matsukawa set him on the closed toilet seat and turned to start the bath, picking up his favourite oils and pouring them in. Slim arms wrapped around his waist and he smiled, turning to pull his shirt off. Helpful hands pulled his pants down, and then he had a tired omega nuzzling against his hipbone, huffing a breath against the skin.

Matsukawa sunk his fingers into Hanamaki’s hair, stroking the short strands as they waited for the water to fill the tub. “Takahiro, are you really okay?”

“Is this about what happened?” Hanamaki yawned, then hugged him closer. “I’m okay. But I’m tired now. Talk to me when I’m awake and not in heat. I’ll be traumatised then.”

“You’re taking this too lightly.”

“I can’t think straight.” Hanamaki mumbled. “All I wanna do is sleep, but right now, I want to suck your dick.”

Matsukawa chuckled and pulled his arms off, picking him up easily and depositing him in the shower. “That’s your heat talking.”

“Toldja.” The strawberry blond leaned forward and switched the showerhead on, sticking his head under the stream of water. By the time he was fully drenched, he couldn’t hear the taps pouring water, and something cool was dumped onto his head, large fingers kneading until his hair was foamy. It was comforting, relaxing, and he leaned into the touch, rumbling contentedly.

“Hey, Issei?”

“Hmm?”

“I really do appreciate you guys coming for me. Thank you.”

“We’re your mates, you idiot. We’d find you anywhere.”

“We’re not mates _yet_ … Are you proposing?”

“If you’re counting that, I must have proposed like twenty times already. Give me an answer, you flirty omega.”

“It’s not flirting if I wink at Hajime or Tooru.”

“No, that’s called seducing.” He tapped Hanamaki on the shoulder, then pushed his head under the showerhead to scrub the soap out. When the strawberry blond popped back up, hair clean, he took the soap to lather and wash his back, rubbing circles into his skin. 

“But really, you know that we’d never abandon you, never give you up to another, right?”

_“Never gonna give you up~”_

_“Hiro.”_  

Hanamaki cut off his song with a laugh, leaning into Matsukawa’s touch. “I know, I know. I love you guys too much to let myself be taken away.” He tilted his head back to grin lop-sidedly, his eyes pinched with mirth. “Thank you, again.”

Matsukawa smiled crookedly, poking him in the side so that he shrieked and jerked to face the front. “Don’t worry about it.

“What else can we do for someone we love, if not protect them?”


	14. Too Much Effort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> "How about you make me?" Matsuiwa~ C:

The front door slammed, shutting out the giggles coming from the other side of it. Random banging and thumping could be heard from the foyer before tired footsteps made their way toward him.

Iwaizumi slouched over the back of the couch, throwing his arms around Matsukawa’s shoulders. “Issei,” he whined. “I’m hot.”

Matsukawa chuckled. He could smell the alcohol on his boyfriend’s breath, and prepared himself for an amusing conversation. “Go take a shower and sleep.”

“No.” Iwaizumi nuzzled into the side of his neck with a whiny protest. “Tired.”

“Hajime, I told you not to go drinking with Oikawa.”

“Tooru needs someone to look after him,” Iwaizumi complained. “He’s such a flirt, I don’t know how Makki stands him.”

“And where was Makki while Oikawa was flirting with everyone in the club?” Oh no, he was smiling. Iwaizumi would be so mad if he found out how amused he was by all this.

“Flirting with the bartender,” his boyfriend groaned. “Remember Karasuno’s captain?”

“Oh my god.” Matsukawa remembered him - big guy, sturdy receives, the backbone of his team. A strong opponent. “What was his name again?”

“Sawamura.”

“Ah, that’s right.” Matsukawa chuckled, reaching up to ruffle Iwaizumi’s hair. “Don’t you sometimes wonder why Makki and Oikawa are together if all they do is flirt with other people?”

“Beats me.” Iwaizumi mumbled, leaning into the touch. “Dumbasses.”

Matsukawa leaned in to kiss his temple. “Stop worrying about them and go shower.”

“Shower me.” Iwaizumi mumbled, burying his nose in his neck. Matsukawa had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming.

_It should be illegal for someone to be this cute._

He took a deep breath, saying in his most placating voice, “Hajime, you are twenty-seven years old. You can take a shower by yourself.”

“No.” It was so adamant, so petulant, that he couldn’t help but grin.

_“Hajime.”_

“Issei,” Iwaizumi whined. “How about you make me?”

Matsukawa pretended to think about it. “Nah. Too much effort.”

Iwaizumi made a small sound of agreement. “Too much effort to shower.”

“You’re gonna regret it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow can worry about itself,” Iwaizumi groused. In a big show of effort, he removed his arms from around Matsukawa’s shoulders and pulled himself over the back of the couch, landing with an _oof_ in his boyfriend’s lap.

“Hajime,” Matsukawa sighed dramatically. “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re comfy.” Iwaizumi wriggled until his head was positioned in Matsukawa’s lap, turning to blink sleepily at him. “Goodnight.”

Matsukawa threaded his fingers through his hair, sighing lightly. “Goodnight. I’m not showering you.”

“Don’t care.” Iwaizumi’s eyelids fluttered shut and his breathing deepened; he was out within two minutes.

Matsukawa reached out to turn the standing lamp off. “Sweet dreams.”


	15. A la Sound of Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> Dialogue 13 with matsuhana (;
> 
> 13\. “You look…”  
> “Beautiful, I know. Can we move on?”

Hanamaki taps his foot impatiently, glaring accusingly at the sky of pinks and oranges and purples as if it is its fault that his date is late.

Twenty minutes. It is twenty minutes past their scheduled meeting time, and Matsukawa is _not here_.

Hanamaki swears he’s going to beat him up if he’s late for some inane reason like _I forgot to set an alarm_ again.

Finally, _freakin’-nugget-finally_ , he hears footsteps thumping behind him, and jerks his head back to glare. “For the love of all that is good, it’s been _forty minutes_ , you flipping chicken nugget-” His words die out, when he catches sight of what his boyfriend is wearing. “You look…”

“Beautiful, I know. Can we move on?”

No, they can’t. 

Well, okay, Matsukawa looks beautiful _all the time_ , impeccably gorgeous no matter the circumstance. But this time, Hanamaki admits that his standards are not _that_ low.

“Issei… Did you make a dumb bet with Oikawa again?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Matsukawa sniffs, taking him by the hand and starting to walk. “Am I not allowed to wear a toga for no reason other than the fact that I want to?”

“Issei, _please_. That looks like one of Oikawa’s curtains.”

“I’m glad you noticed.” Matsukawa says loftily, and Hanamaki chokes on a sob or giggle - he isn’t sure which it is.

“What’s Oikawa wearing, then?”

“Clothes, I hope.”

Hanamaki groans and looks around, flushing when he sees the number of bystanders gawking at them. He quickly pulls his phone out to pretend he has something to do instead of meeting their eyes, and chokes out another sob-giggle at the sight of the spam of messages. He lifts his eyes a little and scans the crowd around him, and has to keep himself from gasping aloud at the sight of a familiar figure.

“Issei, seriously, _what_ did you and Oikawa bet on and _what_ is he wearing?”

“The bet is secret, but if you must know what he is wearing, then ask Iwaizumi.”

“I don’t need to ask, I can see him down the next street - the one with the good takoyaki - wait, no, stop looking - _Matsukawa Issei_ , just _what_ do you think you’re doing-”

His protests go unheard as he is dragged along, and then the four of them are face-to-face, Matsukawa and Oikawa dressed in honestly indecent clothing, Iwaizumi and Hanamaki trying to shrink into the ground behind them.

Oikawa places one hand on his hip, the curtain matching the one Matsukawa is wearing shifting under his hand. “Mattsun.”

“Oikawa.” Matsukawa folds his arms across his chest, and Hanamaki thanks every Shinto god he can remember that at least his boyfriend had the decency to cover his chest. Or one half of it, but that doesn’t matter.

“Tooru, can you please stop this nonsense immediately-”

“No!” Oikawa snaps, his gaze still fixed on Matsukawa. “We said we’d settle this fairly, and we will. “

“Oikawa,” Hanamaki groans, “You’re wearing a _sarong_ and it’s _autumn_.”

A barely perceptible shiver goes through the brunet, but he holds his ground, despite being naked from the waist up.

“Freezing is the least of his worries right now,” Matsukawa scoffs, unfolding his arms to grab Hanamaki by the hand. “You know what we agreed on. I’ll see you at morning practice tomorrow, _Captain_.”

“I won’t lose!” Oikawa huffs, turning to stalk away, Iwaizumi chasing after him.

Hanamaki keeps sneaking glances back at them, at the duo now off on their own date, before Matsukawa sighs and tightens his grip on his hand.

“It’s nothing big. Let’s just enjoy our night.”

“Are you sure? You look cold.”

Matsukawa shivers, then promptly pokes Hanamaki in the side. “There is going to be no mention of that word tonight.”

“Oh?” Hanamaki raises an eyebrow. “Any other conditions of the bet?”

Matsukawa sighs. “No warm places.”

Hanamaki hums thoughtfully. “Anything _else_?”

“Sorry, the number you reached is unavailable. Please, try again later. Thank you.”

The strawberry blond grins and places one of his bare, icy hands on his boyfriend’s waist. Matsukawa yelps and tries to wriggle away, but Hanamaki’s grip is firm. “So you and Oikawa bet you could go out wearing nothing but drapes and still keep warm somehow? Well, do I have news for _you_.”

“Takahiro, are you seriously telling me that you’re going to make me lose the bet-”

“Aha, so the bet is related to keeping warm!”

Matsukawa shuts his mouth firmly and walks away, leaving Hanamaki to chase after him, laughing.

“Okay, okay, no mention of icy stuff, no being toasty warm. How else can I help you win this bet?”

Matsukawa groans. “You’re a little shit.”

“At your service. Now, I heard that the ice skating rink is great at this hour…”

_“Hanamaki Takahiro.”_

“No? Well, the really nice ice cream parlour is just down the other street-”

“Stop.”

“Oooh, I remember seeing that the yakiniku place near the main shopping hub has an offer today!”

“You’re killing me.”

“Love you too. Oh, I know, I heard there’s a stand that sells snowcones nearby…”

(Hanamaki would never admit it, but one upside of the bet was that he got to sit in Matsukawa’s lap a lot more often than usual, even if he got thrown off fairly often for his ‘insufferably frozen appendages’.)

(And as both Matsukawa and Oikawa were too sick to come to school the next day, Hanamaki and Iwaizumi never found out what they were betting on.)

(Though admittedly, the memory of the date itself was enough.)


	16. Dear Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> sentence 1 matsuiwa!
> 
> 1\. “I was just kind of hoping that you’d, y’know…fall in love with me.”

Dear ~~Matsukawa,~~ ~~Issei,~~ Matsukawa,

Hi. It’s Iwaizumi. 

Oh, no, don’t start with the Hello song. I know you were thinking it.

I bet you’re still thinking it.

But anyway…

I’m writing this because I can’t keep them in anymore. My feelings, that is. I’m going to explode if I don’t tell someone, but who can I tell?

So I’m writing it out.

God, I sound so lame.

Where do I begin?

~~Maybe at the beginning, maybe from the top, because you’ll never read this anyway.~~

You’re so beautiful.

That’s not a thing you usually tell guys, is it? But it’s true, it’s true, it’s true for you.

From the first day we met and you blocked one of my spikes, tripped me in the hallway and spilled food on me at lunch… Well, no, I didn’t love you then, I couldn’t have.

But with every passing minute, every span of breath we spent together and you let your guard down to talk with me, discuss with me, _listen_ to me - even though I do nothing but ramble - I think I fell for you really quickly.

It’s kind of embarrassing.

Did you know that it was Oikawa who had to tell me to stop pining and just speak to you about my feelings? ~~Not that I ever did.~~ He’s such a meddler.

I didn’t even think I liked you at first - I never knew what counted as love - but then he slapped a chart down in front of me and taught me about the different kinds of love, and it was like I took one of Ushijima’s spikes to the face.

 _Love._ What a powerful and misleading word, and how it drives people to insanity.

It’s crazy, and intoxicating, and it’s like a drug.

~~It scares me.~~

Do you know how hard it was to keep it to myself after I finally realised it? I nearly blurted it out so many times, but then I’d see something that would make me hold back, and there, my chance was lost.

~~I still see it, every day, all the time, my reason for never telling you.~~

I was content with just being by your side, just playing volleyball and being your friend, but now our three years are up and we’re going different ways. ~~And I still haven’t told you.~~

I had hoped that by being there for you, I’d do enough, be enough to have a special place in your heart as you have in mine but…I guess not.

~~I was just kind of hoping that you’d, y’know…fall in love with me.  
~~

It’s not that easy, is it?

~~You might not believe me, but it hurts, it hurts, _so badly_.~~

~~I want to tell you.~~

~~I can’t.~~

I hope that even as we continue on into university, we’ll still be friends, and that you’ll find happiness wherever you go. ~~Your happiness is right beside you but I wish it was me, I wish it was me~~

~~I can’t be selfish, not when you love him so much~~

~~I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry~~

Keep in touch, okay?

~~I love you I love you I love you please don’t leave please turn around and _see_ me and _choose_ me oh please~~

~~Love~~ Sincerely,

Iwaizumi

* * *

Iwaizumi folded the letter and slid it into an envelope, carefully sealing it before placing it on his table, its surface carefully blank, so no one could ever send it.

He turned to one of his oldest books, flipping it open and sticking the letter inside, then shutting it and replacing it on the shelf.

(Maybe when he comes back, he’ll find it and read it and laugh at the fool that he was.)

(He was sure it would never happen. He’d probably cry instead.)

“Hajime! Time to go!”

“Coming, Okaa-san!” He picked up his bag and pushed in his chair, taking one last look at the room he grew up in before exiting and shutting the door gently.

He did not look at the photoframe hanging next to his door as he exits, did not look at the picture of him and his three best friends for the last time.

He ccouldn’t bear to see the distance between him and Matsukawa, not when he was joined to Hanamaki at the hip.


	17. Morning Snapshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 
> 
> Sentence 17 with matsuhanaiwaoi
> 
> 17\. “Don’t. Move.”

“Don’t. Move.”

Matsukawa thinks he hears a voice hissing off to his left, but he’s too sleepy to do anything about it. Under his arm, he feels someone shift and press closer to him, soft mumbling against his skin.

“Tooru, don’t move, I’m trying to sleep-”

“I’m trying to preserve a moment for eternity, _you_ shush-”

There’s grumpy mumbling against his chest, and the two voices grow quiet, before taking up their hissy argument again.

“Don’t move for two seconds, Hiro! Two! Before they wake up-”

“Shut up and let sleeping dogs lie! What if Hajime wakes up huh-”

“That’s why I’m trying to take a photo, now SHUSH-”

“Shut up, Shittykawa.” It’s a soft murmur, lost in a whisper of air over his skin, but Matsukawa’s arms subconsciously tighten around the man in his arms, and the grumble turns into a pleased hum.

“Two seconds, Hiro, just two-” The familiar, but increasingly irritating voice cuts off, then groans angrily, and Matsukawa frowns, his awareness of the world increasing against his will.

“It’s blurry! Damn it, Hiro, stop moving, will you-”

“Shut up and come back to bed.”

“Tooru, if I have to wake up and shut you up, there will be hell to pay.”

Silence.

“Sorry, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi wriggles in his grip before finally settling down with an irritated puff of air. Matsukawa sighs as he feels him relax, a gentle exhale that loosens his muscles, and lets his mind drift again. He feels a warm back press against his, and his lips might or might not twitch up into a smile.

He isn’t sure if he imagines the little click of a camera shutter right before his dreams claim him again.


	18. I Love You So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> Sentence #4 Matsuhanaiwaoi ;3c
> 
> 4\. “I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I don’t trust your cooking. Stay out of my kitchen.”

“Iwa-chaaaannn.” Oikawa rolled over and dropped his head on his boyfriend’s stomach.

Iwaizumi flipped a page in his book, not even batting an eyelid. “No.”

“I didn’t say anything yet!” 

“Whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

Oikawa pouted, blowing a raspberry against the fabric of his shirt. “But I’m bored.”

“Go watch a movie.”

“Not in a movie mood.”

“Social media.”

“Went through everything, and no one’s online. I’m _bored_.”

“Read a book. Draw. Dance. I don’t know.”

“Iwa-chan, you’re not paying attention to meee.” Oikawa pulled the top of the book down, meeting Iwaizumi’s annoyed eyes. “Give me something to do.”

“I just suggested a whole bunch of things, mop-head.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa squawked, bolting upright. “My hair’s not _that_ bad!”

“Go ask Hiro, then. He’ll tell you.”

“Fine, I will!” Oikawa huffed, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing, marching grumpily to the kitchen.

“Makkiiii,” Oikawa moaned, draping himself over the countertop, “Iwa-chan called me a mop-head!”

“Is that right,” Hanamaki mumbled, eyes fixed on his recipe book. “How would he know?”

“Exactly!” Oikawa shot upright, propping his chin on his hands. “My hair is fluffy because it’s _perfect_ -”

“I mean, how would he know if he’s never used your head as a mop before?”

Oikawa gasped, clutching at his chest. “I can’t believe this- The betrayal- From _you_ of all people- Makki, I thought you loved me!”

“I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I don’t trust your cooking. Stay out of my kitchen.” 

A long pause.

“I’m not anywhere near your stove.”

“But you were thinking about it.” Hanamaki shot back, setting the book down to pull flour, baking powder and other baking condiments from the cupboard, only pausing once to give Oikawa an unimpressed look. “Out of my kitchen.”

Oikawa pouted, staring morosely at the raw ingredients. “But now I want to bake.”

“You are coming _nowhere_ near me and my kitchen when I bake. Issei!”

“What?” Matsukawa’s voice carried over to them from the living room, and the sounds of the movie stopped. A moment later, a head of messy hair stuck itself into the kitchen, peering at them. “Did someone call for pest control?”

Hanamaki leaned against the counter, pointing at a spluttering Oikawa with his spatula. “Yeah, that would be me. Remove the mop. It is starved of attention and I cannot multitask in the kitchen.”

“Makki- _Honestly-_  Your insults get better and better every day, but _really_?”

“Issei.”

“On it.”

Matsukawa walked over and grabbed Oikawa around the waist, throwing him over his shoulder with minimal resistance. (Mostly because Oikawa was still busy cursing at Hanamaki.)

He flopped down on the sofa, arms caging Oikawa in, and pressed the ‘Play’ button with his toe. The movie started up again, but Oikawa would not look at the laptop, continuing to fidget and moan about how bored he was. Matsukawa rolled his eyes.

“Tooru, please. You have to stop acting like you’re angry at us sometime.”

“Angry? Who’s angry? Definitely not me. Please, Mattsun, what are you talking about?” The brunet’s eyes darted about the room, refusing to meet his gaze. Matsukawa sighed and caught his chin, forcing him still so he could look him straight in the eye.

“ _This_. This switch to our last names, this act of boredom.”

The older still refused to meet his eyes, so he pressed on. “It’s just one exhibition, Tooru. There will be more, okay?”

Oikawa’s eyes snapped up with sudden fierce intensity, causing him to flinch. “If you understand that’s it’s important to me, then why won’t you let me go?!”

“Because there’s a protest taking place on the next street, and we prefer you not to go and remain alive.” Matsukawa let go to nuzzle the side of his neck, arms squeezing him tightly. “We’ll make it up to you next time, alright?”

“But there won’t be a next time for _this_ exhibition,” Oikawa grumbled.

“There also won’t be another you if you went for it and never came back,” Matsukawa pointed out. “Which, let me remind you, nearly happened.”

“But it didn't! Hajime literally carried me off the street and I was barely out of the house!”

“You were halfway there when the news of the protest came over the radio. We panicked, okay?”

“Sure doesn’t look like it.”

“Tooru.” Matsukawa sighed in exasperation. “Hajime is stress-reading and Taka is stress-baking. The only reason why I’m not stressing is because you’re sitting in my lap and _I know you’re real_.”

He sighed again, dropping his head onto Oikawa’s shoulder. “Do you remember when we had to split up for college?”

“The long-distance thing where we didn’t speak to each other? No, of course I don’t remember that.”

“Stop being salty for a moment and listen to me,” he groaned. “I’m trying to say that that was painful but can you imagine what it would be like if that happened for real? Long-distance because you’re not even in this plane of existence and not speaking because you’re _dead_?”

“You’re being overly dramatic,” Oikawa told him, but his voice was softer, quieter, more contemplative.

“Maybe, but it’s realistic,” Matsukawa countered. He lifted his head to press a soft kiss to the corner of Oikawa’s mouth, leaning back before he could ask for more. “We love you, you doofus, and that’s precisely why we’d rather have you suffer at home than potentially get shot in the streets.”

“I keep forgetting we’re not in Japan anymore,” Oikawa sighed, finally, _finally_ leaning into Matsukawa’s touch. “It’s difficult to remember that we’re not mostly safe all the time.”

“It’s a small price to pay for being able to stay together, isn’t it?” His attention shifted as his hand was lifted, a light kiss pressed to the ring gleaming on his finger. Forest green eyes looked up into his as more kisses were pressed to his knuckles, before his hand was flipped over and a kiss pressed to his palm. “If we look out for each other, we wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

Oikawa stuttered, his cheeks bright pink. “H-hajime-”

Matsukawa leaned in, shutting him up with a kiss. “He’s right, you know,” he mumbled against his lips. “You were there right? You said the pledge with us? ‘Till death do us part’, not ‘till stupidity do us part’?”

Oikawa smacked him.

Iwaizumi smiled at their antics, squeezing Oikawa’s hand to bring his attention back to him. “We love you, Tooru. _I_ love you. Being in a relationship means we give and take, so let it go this one time, and enjoy the day with us instead, okay?”

Oikawa sniffed huffily and turned away, but when he spoke his voice was thick with tears. “Fine. Just this once.”

“You’re an ass.” Matsukawa poked him, grinning when he shrieked. “I love you a lot, okay. Get that through that mop-head of yours.”

“I guess I love you to- Did you insult my hair _again_?!”

“Oops.”

Oikawa tore himself out of his grip and ran for the kitchen, flailing wildly. “Takahirooo, Issei is bullying me againnn-”

_“OUT. OF. MY. KITCHEN.”_

Iwaizumi laughed and planted himself on the couch, pressing himself up against Matsukawa. An arm came up around his shoulders and he nestled closer, sighing deeply. 

“Tooru will get over it.”

Iwaizumi hummed lowly, eyes fixed on the screen. “He will. It’s better this way.”

A loud crash was heard from the kitchen, followed by Hanamaki’s creative cursing and Oikawa’s squawks of apology. Iwaizumi smiled.

“At least this way, he’s safe.”


	19. Wildest Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> 12 semishira :)
> 
> 12\. “Take my jacket, it’s cold outside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I combined this with an idea I had for Taylor Swift's [Wildest Dreams](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IdneKLhsWOQ).

 

“Take my jacket, it’s cold outside.”

It’s a voice, loud and shouted over the music of the club, but it’s close to his ear, and the breath that travels over the cartilage makes him shiver. He looks up into cocoa-coloured eyes, his nod barely perceptible as he accepts the jacket, as they step out into the cold.

Kenjirou takes a deep breath, the chill of autumn swirling in his lungs, glancing out of the corner of his eye to see the neon lights reflecting off the other’s hair.

What was his name again?

The silver-haired man shakes his head, the dyed tips jumping with the motion. He glances down and smirks, tilting his head so his eyes catch the light. “Wanna get out of this town?”

Kenjirou gulps, uncertainty warring with excitement. “What do you have in mind?”

The taller shrugs. “Anywhere away from the crowds. It’s warm in there, but somewhere a little more private would be nice.”

The brunet purses his lips. “You have a car?”

A faint _chirp_  draws his attention, and he looks up in time to see the fading flash of lights on a sleek car.

“Only the best.”

x.x.x.x.x

Eita. His name is Eita.

Kenjirou has no idea who he is, other than the fact that his hair is ash blond, not silver, he is tall and handsome and he drives fast cars.

Oh, and he’s unbearably hot.

Kenjirou gasps as Eita latches on to his neck, kissing and biting at the pale skin, laving his way down and leaving a trail of pleasure in his wake. His hands fist in pale hair, whimpers and moans escaping as Eita makes quick work of his jacket and shirt, and every other piece of clothing between them.

“Open yourself up for me,” he murmurs, and Kenjirou falls apart in his arms, easier, faster, more quickly than he ever has before.

x.x.x.x.x

“Where are you headed for, in the morning?”

Kenjirou stares at their lightly entwined fingers, Eita’s jacket thrown haphazardly across their forms. He sighs lightly, the softest exhale stirring the hairs on their hands. “Kyoto. I need to get out of the city, get back to my roots.”

He can see the light reflecting off Eita’s hair as he shifts, and then fingers are on his chin, lifting his eyes to meet a steady gaze. 

“Let me take you there.”

x.x.x.x.x

He lets him.

Kenjirou sits in his car as they drive through small towns and big cities, stopping for fuel and food and the slightest bit of sightseeing and souvenir shopping. It’s fast and quiet, but also lazy and noisy, their exchanged banter easy.

Kenjirou stares at the passing scenery, head on hand, and the words he said a fortnight ago - two weeks, has it been that long? - coming to mind.

_“What is this, between us?”  
_

_Eita pauses, head cocked, thinking. “What do you want it to be?”_

_Kenjirou stares at his muscles, at the definition rippling through his abdomen where he himself is painfully lacking._

_“I think we have something. But it’s not going to last.”  
_

_Eita pulls his shirt over his head, walking over to lift Kenjirou’s chin, kissing the corner of his mouth. “We can make it work. Unless you don’t want it to?”_

_He chases after him, capturing the taller’s lips, nibbling lightly, drawing his tongue across his bottom lip. “We can make it work,” he mumbles, winding his arms around his waist. “But in case we don’t, promise me something.”_

_Eita breaks the kiss, moving to nibble his ear, his breath delicate against the cartilage. “Anything.”_

_He stands on tiptoe, leaning up to whisper._

“We’re nearly there, aren’t we?”

Eita hums, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching out to stroke the back of Kenjirou’s hand. His voice is deep, familiar, soothing, an extension of Kenjirou after these two weeks with only each other for company. “We are.”

And Kenjirou thinks back to every night this past fortnight, the hazy form of their figures entwining, the gasps and whispers and shared intimacy. He thinks back to the days spent in relative harmony, the travelling, the shared grins, the relationship budding between them. 

He thinks and he thinks, and finally he flips his hand up to twine their fingers together. “Remember what you promised me?”

_“Promise you’ll remember me. In this light, this shared restlessness, this desire to be free. Remember me in the sunset, staring at the sun as the world inverts and we become so much more to each other.”  
_

_“I promise.”_

“Yeah, I remember.”

Kenjirou squeezes Eita’s hand for a moment, then lets go. “Focus on the road.”

x.x.x.x.x

“Do you even know what you want to do?!”

“Do you?!”

“I came to Kyoto on a whim! I was following you! And now you say you don’t have a plan?”

“I have a plan!” Kenjirou screams back, taking advantage of his proximity to the door to shuffle away. “I have a plan, and I’m going to go start as soon as you stop acting like a child!”

“A child? A child? Who is the child here? Who is the one who doesn’t want to admit that he came to Kyoto because he didn’t know what to do with his life?”

“You know _nothing_ about my life!”

He grabs his wallet and slams the door on the way out, stomping down the steps and angrily swiping at the water on his cheeks.

In the room he left behind, Eita roars and kicks the bedpost, cursing more colourfully when it only adds to his pain.

x.x.x.x.x

_He brushes the hair out of his eyes, cupping his face gently, rubbing their noses together. “Come on, get up, sleepyhead.”_

_“No.” The brunet wiggles deeper into the sheets, burying his face in the blanket. “Sleep.”  
_

_He smiles at the picture he paints, all soft lines and innocence, opting to pet his hair instead. “Wake up, come on.”_

_“No. Go away.”  
_

It’s just a memory, just a remembrance of events already past.

_“You’re taking too long in the shower!”_

_“Join me then!”  
_

Just… A memory.

_“You’re beautiful, like this.”_

_“I’m always beautiful.”  
_

_“Shut your sassy mouth and let me appreciate you.”  
_

Eita bites on his lip and takes a deep breath, composing himself before grabbing a tray and walking out.

_“Say you’ll remember me.”_

_“Always.”  
_

x.x.x.x.x

He has to be dreaming.

_A shock of pale hair, in a shade so, so familiar to him._

He has to be.

_Perfect almond eyes, cocoa-coloured and brimming with mirth._

It’s a dream.

_Smiling up at someone else, someone who’s tall and gangly and muscular, who’s loud and boisterous and draws way too much attention to himself._

A wild dream.

_**He doesn’t like noisy places or people; he likes the solitude and quiet and weird music that makes him think and move and dance-** _

But then _he_ looks up, and time seems to slow.

_His beautiful eyes lock on to him, his mouth drops open in a gape, then he’s reaching out-_

Kenjirou turns, and hides himself in the crowd.

x.x.x.x.x

One chasing, one running, but the distance between them never decreases.

The one running gets away, but his heart aches, and he sinks to his knees, cheeks wet.

The one chasing gets pulled back, his fringe pushed out of his face, a chaste kiss pressed to his lips.

They are far away, but in that moment it seems like they are together again, entwined in each other’s embraces, wrapped up in the moment of twilight.

Two sets of lips whisper a promise to themselves, in panic and reverence and wistful remembrance. Each word drips with the hurt of an unhealed wound, with the pain of festering rot, something never resolved.

_“Say you’ll see me again, even if it’s in your wildest dreams.”_

The sun drops beyond the horizon, and they are alone.


	20. Life and Death Personified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> matsuiwa with 4, irresistible? (I'm such a slut fr this ship ghsjkhgs) but thank you!
> 
> 4\. irresistible

Dancing, circling; warily skipping forward and darting back; a game they play with each other.

Reaching out, hanging back, fingers skimming across skin, light as gossamer, but with a flash like fire.

Coming close but never quite reaching, never quite touching, only brushing by in the mere moment that someone hangs in the balance between them.

One guides beings from the moment they first wake, and stands by them as they meander and stumble through their days. One stands at the end, patiently awaiting these beings, welcoming them with open arms as they leave the embrace of his partner, friend, mirror-self.

Sometimes, the one who waits would step forward and breathe over a being, lulling them into a sleep deep enough to draw them to him. Sometimes they wake and return to his partner, and he would grin, because his irritated expression is priceless. 

Sometimes, they never wake, and he would lift their spirits from their bodies, walking them to his realm, leaving the brightness of his partner’s world behind.

They have an odd friendship, a peculiar relationship, always skirting around each other, never quite touching. There is a veil between them, separating them though they are the same type of ephemeral being.

They look at each other for eons, co-existing, brushing past as a life transitions from one’s realm into the other’s.

Sometimes, as a life hangs between them, they reach out, palm to palm, their hands almost touching, but not quite, and smile.

 _One day, I’ll reach you,_ that smile says. _One day, I will see you not as another separated from me, but as an equal, roaming this earth together._

They are otherworldly, everlasting. It is a promise that will never come true, because there is no one else to take their mantle.

It has been eons and eons, when finally, they are released from their service.

* * *

It is a dark night, mist curling around his ankles as he jogs home, when he spots him. Tall, dark, handsome, and somehow intimately familiar, he is leaning against a tree, his phone screen illuminating his face.

 _Hey,_ he calls out, _are you lost?_

The other looks up, and a shock of recognition goes through him. The other looks mildly confused as well, but pockets his phone.

_Yeah, I sort of am. Could you point me in the direction of the station?_

_I’m headed there myself._ He isn’t. _I’ll walk you there._

The guy nods, and they set off.

 _Are you new to town?_ He asks, because he hasn’t seen him before, but it feels like he has, yet he is lost in their small town-

 _Yeah_. The guy says, a little awkward. _Just moved here. I must have gotten off at the wrong stop earlier._

 _An easy mistake_ , he replies, then their walk is silent, punctuated only by the shuffling of their steps.

_Hey, can I-_

_I want to-_

They stop and stare at each other, smiling awkwardly and waving for the other to continue.

The taller is insistent that he speak first, so he does. 

_Do I know you from somewhere? You look very familiar._

His companion smiles. _I thought so too. But I can’t remember where._

He shrugs, because he doesn’t know either. _I’m Iwaizumi Hajime._

_Matsukawa Issei._

The names don’t ring a bell for either of them, but they have reached the station, and it is time to part ways.

Iwaizumi raises a hand in farewell, as does Matsukawa. He is struck by the familiarity of the gesture, though he has never done it with this stranger before.

Matsukawa looks curious and conflicted as well, and reaches forward, pressing their palms together.

Iwaizumi feels it; a subtle shift, a tiny click within his soul, like a missing piece has finally been slotted into the right place. He looks up - Matsukawa is staring at him with a mix of wonder and apprehension.

_**Do I know you?** _

Words said in unison, in wonderment and fascination and open curiosity. But they can’t put a name to it, can’t explain why they feel this way.

_Give me your number? We can talk about it another day._

_Sure._

Numbers are exchanged, goodbyes said, and a promise for a meetup soon.

They finally part, Iwaizumi walking back into the mist, Matsukawa into the light of the station.

They turn back once to look at each other, dark and light, mist and sun.

The image is hauntingly familiar, but they know not why.

All they know is that the pull between them is magnetic, undeniable.

Irresistible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If nobody got it, I personified Iwa and Mattsun as Death and Life respectively in the earlier part!


	21. Don't Bother Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> 18 with matsuhanaiwaoi ~~
> 
> 18\. Fuck this, I’m going back to sleep.

Loud screeching could be heard from beyond the bedroom and Iwaizumi groaned, rolling over so he could blink blearily at the door. Behind him, he heard someone else stir, and a familiar arm draped itself over his waist, mumbling incoherently.

Iwaizumi wanted to get up and check what the hysterical screeching was about, but in all honesty, Oikawa was probably just doing something dumb again. Seconds later, the frantic pattering of footsteps approached, and the door was thrown open, revealing a still screaming Oikawa.

Iwaizumi groaned. “What _now_ , Shittykawa?”

“Iwa-chan, you could stand to be nicer to me!”  


“This early in the morning? No.” The arm tugged him backwards, Matsukawa grumbling incoherently in his ear. “Also, shut up. We’re trying to sleep.”

“Hajime _please_ , Hiro’s out to get me and I- Mrfgh!”

A flour-covered hand clapped itself over Oikawa’s mouth and dragged him away, Hanamaki calling out, “Sorry about that!”

Iwaizumi stared at the place they were standing for a moment before groaning and detaching Matsukawa’s arm from around his waist. The other grumbled and tried to pull him back, but he shoved an armful of blanket at him and told him to hug that instead. “I’ll be back. Damage control.”

“Punch both of them for me.”

“Will do.”

The sight in the kitchen had him blinking in disbelief. A few more seconds of staring at the chaos - and his fighting boyfriends - had him turning around. 

“Fuck this, I’m going back to sleep.”

“HAJIMEEEEE!”

“Hajime, come help me- Get _off_ , Tooru-” 

“No, _you_ get off- DID YOU JUST TOUCH MY HAIR?!”

Iwaizumi slammed the bedroom door and locked it, turning to jump back into the blanket pile.

“Did you punch them?”

“Hell no, they were having a food fight with the pancake mix.”

Matsukawa burrowed his nose into Iwaizumi’s hair, mumbling, “I want pancakes.”

 _“I’m_ not going back into that chaos.”

“Mmprgh. Okay.”

“Giving up so easily?”

“I’d take you over pancakes any day.”

Iwaizumi didn’t answer to that, pressing his burning face into Matsukawa’s neck instead and huffing his embarrassment. The arms around him tightened, and he could feel his boyfriend’s pleased hums against his chest.

They managed to fall back asleep, despite the sounds of war taking place outside the bedroom.


	22. Drifting, Drifting, Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> J: Write or describe an alternative ending to [insert fic].

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate ending to [Divertissement](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10632714)

_A noiseless apartment, suddenly wrecked with shouts._

“No! I will not come, I’ve cut my ties. Leave me  _alone.”_

_Frantic whispering, and he turns over, whining a little in the back of his throat at the ache in his back._

_He wonders why he can hear the other voice so clearly, when one side is so quiet._

“I am going to hang up right now, and I don’t want either of you calling me back. I’ve made my choice, now leave me be.”

_Voices rising, and he thinks he catches snippets - torn apart, wrecking his body, going to die._

_He wonders who they’re talking about._

“I said no! What part of that don’t you understand? I left for a  _reason_ , okay? I want nothing to do with him. If you’re worrying so much,  _you_  take care of him.”

_“He’s hung up over you, you asshole-”_

_“Shh, enough. Thank you for your time. Sorry about this, we’ll not bother you again.”  
_

_The voices die away, and he is left with a lingering uncertainty._

_He knows who those voices belong to, especially the loud one._

_That’s the one that carved out his heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have time to write a proper ending bc I didn't want the ask to get too long ;;
> 
> But yeah, Divertissement wasn't supposed to have a happy ending.


	23. To Love Is To Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> Are you taking angst prompts? If so, semishira with #11? :D
> 
> 11\. I never meant to fall in love with you.

A drop of sweat, tracing its way down a face - wiped away with the back of a hand, carelessly, carelessly,  _thoughtlessly._

He turns away, exhaling shakily, fixing his eyes on the ball in his hands.

He hears the call, the sound of ball hitting palm, the satisfying  _smack_  as the ball hits the floor.

He knows what he will see without turning around: taped fingers curled into a fist, the tiniest of triumphant smiles lifting his lips, copper-tinged bangs swinging, long enough to cover the exhilaration shining in hazel eyes.

He doesn’t need to look, because he knows those features intimately, obsessively. He knows them almost as well as he knows his own face.

It is all the more reason  _not_  to look,  _not_  to hurt himself more than he has before.

But his heart still aches, longing for something so near, yet so far.

* * *

Taut muscles, corded veins, power strung tight, like a bow at the ready.

The whistle blows, and he can almost hear the  _twang_  as the arrow flies free.

But of course, it isn’t an arrow, not really. 

The volleyball slams between two receivers on the opponent team, sharp, straight and true. The receivers look slowly at each other, as if in a dream. Uncomprehending. Sluggishly understanding. Realisation dawning.

The cheers rise from around him, congratulating. The server never looks up as he catches the ball thrown to him, but the bouncing of his starlight locks as he dips his head says it all. He has heard them. 

It is only when the cheers die down and the whistle is blown for the next serve that he realises - he had joined in, too.

The thought makes heat rush to his cheeks, and he resists the urge to pat them to cool them down.

(Who knew what rumours would abound if he did?)

* * *

Every day, a new experience, a fresh occurrence. Repeats of the old, yet there is something new in each action, something novel to be discovered.

An argument, yet not so. If he had to name it, perhaps it could be called a friendly debate.

Words that start out full of heat and vigor, simmering down to sarcastic teasing, petering out to a gentle, tiny fire.

He wonders if the flame would ever go out.

(He doesn’t want to find out.)

(But he doesn’t need to, because they will be going their own ways soon enough, him into the world unknown, while his copper-haired devil remains behind.)

Their discussion has ended, and in the aftermath, they glare at each other as is their wont. And he can’t help but notice-

-his eyes are hazel, but studded with chocolate, gold flecks glinting at the edges if he tilts his head just so. There is a tiny beauty mark sitting at the edge of his top lip; his nose scrunches in the weirdest, yet most endearing way when he hears something stupid.

He knows he shouldn’t stare, and he won’t.

But it’s so difficult to stay away from something that draws him in.

* * *

Every day, a little more wishful thinking, a few more hopeful prayers.

He’s never been religious, but this is one thing he’d beg whichever god for - a little more time, a few more opportunities, a chance for him to speak up.

He knows he never will, but he can’t help hoping that he would be brave enough to speak the little words that weigh on his aching heart.

_I like you._

He wants to stop feeling hot and indignant and embarrassed every time they speak, but his senior makes it so  _hard_.

Who allowed such beauty and grace to exist?

It is his curse, but one he doesn’t quite mind the weight of.

(He pointedly ignores how graduation is in a week, and how he’ll never see him again.)

* * *

_Aren’t you going to tell him?_

**_Tell who what?_ **

_Eita-kun, stop lying to yourself._

**_But I really don’t know what you’re talking about._ **

A long-suffering sigh.  _When are you gonna tell Kenjirou?_

Silence, the freezing of time, yet his neurons are somehow still working, still firing away.

And then-

_**Maybe never.** _

_But-_

**_But nothing. He doesn’t see me in that way._ **

_Have you tried?_

A tired chuckle.

(Not just tired. Worn out. Completely drained.)

_**No. I’m not ready to be rejected.** _

Another pause.  _ **I just… I never expected to feel this way, ever.**_

_Then why would you let go of it?_

**_Because if you love someone, you let them go._ **

(He hides the tearing in his heart, even though they are his own words.)

_**I don’t want him to be bogged down by me, or be ostracised for my actions.** _

_…you’re too good, you know._

He almost laughs. Whispers instead. He doesn’t know if Tendou hears.

**_If I’m so good, why do I feel so awful?_ **

* * *

And finally, they are parting.

(It falls on them like a long awaited dream, the fulfilment of a wish.)

(Yet it isn’t.)

(Maybe the vengeful wish made at their first meeting, but since then, feelings have been discovered, emotions have changed.)

(Maybe they regret it now, that ireful wish.)

(But it’s too late.)

They are the last ones, having lingered behind while the others walk ahead. And he - he doesn’t know  _why_  he’s waiting.

“Shall we go?”

He looks sideways at him, at the sunlight turning his silver hair rose gold. He opens his mouth-

“Okay.”

(He holds his bubbling feelings in, schools his face into neutrality. He won’t say anything.)

(It’d be better to just say nothing. To leave it all behind.)

(It’s just a crush.)

(Or is it?)

And they are suddenly at a crossroads, the time between them and the team lost, passed by in the space of a breath; this is their last moment together. The sky is dark, the stars gleam high above, and yet both their tongues are thick in their mouths.

“Hey-”

“Semi-san, I-”

They stare at each other and share a short laugh, but it feels forced, heavy with implication and emotion.

“What is it?”

“I-” He pauses, unable to go on, hesitancy and fear clogging up his chest. 

He shakes his head, pressing back his feelings, trying to hold back the mess that threatens to spill out. It’s slipping through his fingers, oozing out, but he won’t let them have their way.  _Can’t_  let them have their way. 

“Good luck, I guess.”

And then - and  _then_ , he is rewarded with a smile, soft as the glow of his starlight hair. It is too dim, and he cannot see his eyes, cannot see the emotion in them. It unsettles him, but he is grateful for the cover of darkness, to cover the shaking of his hands and the quivering of his heart.

“Thank you. Good luck with your studies.”

“Thank you.”

No more is said, and the space between them - the peace feels too fragile, a delicate thing, sure to fracture. If he had any confidence before, he has none now. He is too afraid.

“Goodbye.”

“See you.”

They part, and the tumultuous silence stretches behind them as they walk away.

(Like spun glass - clear and thin and beautifully brittle.)

And maybe later, in the security of their own rooms, they will press pillows to faces, scream their frustrations where no one can hear.

Maybe they will send a sad message to their friends, the one who would listen, the one who understands their struggles.

But they never had, and never will have the words to express themselves, nor the courage to.

And maybe… Maybe, they regret it, just a little.

_I never meant to fall in love with you._

(Because if you don’t love someone, you can never have your heart broken by them.)

(But they did, and now they are shattered apart, a world of broken dreams spanning the distance between them.)


End file.
